Poem Turnips And Turnups

Discussion in 'Poems' started by Pycella, Jun 27, 2019.

  1. Pycella Member

    Here is my poem for the summer poetry competition, and it's about harvest!

    ‘s harvest time at the turnip farm
    The farmer works busy in the sun
    Drives off shrews, pulls of weeds
    Protects his prized turnip fields

    All depends on them precious roots
    Neeps are his main livelihood
    He eats them as stew and mousse
    And sells them as turnip juice

    Yet something wicked his way comes:
    A large herd of nasty, hungry boars
    Them peer out from the nearby forest
    Ready to scoff all the turnip harvest…

    Evening comes and it turns dark
    The farmer hears his dog bark
    He dashes out to his fields
    And sees the horror of his dreams:

    It’s all rampage, roar and plunder
    The boars are tearing things asunder
    The dog tries his best to drive them off
    But it’s too scared to do its job

    Yet the farmer feels no fear
    His face turns red from ear to ear
    With his pitchfork as a weapon
    He gives them boars a stinging lesson

    The boars think it wiser to retreat
    Even though they lost their feast
    But as they are quite pig-headed
    They soon try ‘nother neep raid
    And another…
    And another…
    But them always get beaten by the farmer.

    One day, Miss Almi passes by
    Sees the farmer napping neath the sky
    “Why are yer sleeping on your field
    Among the bugs and dirty neeps?

    The farmer tells her everything
    About them boars, their raiding
    Now he must stay and guard the fields
    Not to lose his treasured neeps

    Miss Almi grins with a thought:
    “I know a way to make this stop:”
    “Make another field near the forest”
    “With some neeps for them creatures.”

    The farmer nods, it sounds good
    To keep them boars away with food
    He plants a field, as suggested
    But still, he feels slightly restless…

    Will this plan work?
    Will it satisfy the pork?
    Will he still need his pitchfork?

    Weeks pass, time passes on
    It seems that the boars are gone
    The farmer enjoys peaceful sleep
    There’s no need to guard his neeps

    One day, there’s knock on the door
    It’s Miss Almi, with a smile obscure
    “The boars have returned”, she smiles
    As she gives a box with pies:

    “Thanks for feeding them boar”
    “They will prosper years from now”
    “What goes around, comes around”
    “That’s my favourite hunting rhyme”
    “Because it ends… with a pie.”
    Wildigard, Lina, Rubellita and 4 others like this.

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