The sun, the green, the
birdies' song,
The kids out playing. Hills and
dells,
But most of all, I love the
smells
Where I live, the clear, pure
air,
Wafts fragrances from
everywhere,
And one can just stand there and sniff,
In all directions, catch a whiff.
In South Alberta, where we were,
With constant wind (the saboteur),
It blew the summer smells away
Like flowers, trees and new-mown hay,
But twice a year, the wind would stop,
We’d poke our nose out of the shop,
Delighted with the still air, WHEW!
‘Twas time to have a barbeque!
And so we’d get our tools out,
Invite the family, thaw the trout,
And just when we’d sit down to eat,
The table laden, air so sweet,
Another smell would cause alarm
The neighbour’d cleaned his
piggies' barn.
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So all of us, together, we
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you've read what we have wrought,
Did we help?
Or did we not?
Jenny
Next week, because I call the shots,
We'll all talk 'Bridges'. Love them lots!
LOL! We lived in a small village when I was growing up and there were quite a few farms (in fact we lived on a chicken farm until I was five) and let me just say I understand your poem all too well :D So well done with that punchline!!
ReplyDeleteBridges . . . now that's an interesting topic!
Growing up in a city with a brewery and a cookie factory on two inland sides of town, and an very active fishing and industrial harbour on the waterside, I too can relate to your story.
ReplyDeleteHeeheehee! Yep, i figured some of the smells of summer were going to be not quite favorites after all.
ReplyDeleteHaHa - great punchline! It's interesting to see how some smells appear at different times of the year, according to our localities on the globe.
ReplyDelete