poem

[rvfarm]

I was asked to drive a combine by this farmer guy named Ron. To collect oats, wheat and barley and to do this all day long. The first few days were such a gas 'Yes' driving my combine and at 10 bucks an hour, well I could do this all the time. The end of a swath is coming now I get to raise the header. Wow, it went so smooth and professional I must be getting better. I always get excited, when the beeper sounds 'I'm full'. I get to put the auger out and the button then I pull. Well, it empties out so very fast when it took so long to collect. Aah another hour on the field, well, what did I expect. I really love my combine she's truly an amazing machine. She can do several jobs around the farm things Hiebert's never seen. Well, she digs, she plows, she picks up scrap. I use the header as a bumper jack, she's a mower, a tower, some sort of snow blower. She's a one man band machine. Well, the oats were flying every which way, on the field known as 3-5. I drove around the field twice with my stone trap open wide. 'Now That Gave Me an Idea!' Figured I save him some money and plenty of time with gas so expensive per liter, so I shot off the sieves in the field where he lives and now my John Deer Combine's a seeder. Well the harvest moon is in the east as the sun's setting in the west. It's hot and dry, we're driving on gold and you should see the dust, when the wind starts to blow. Well, I'm sitting on my combine going round and round the field. I sometimes ponder where you are and how the heck you feel. I think I'm still driving my combine I'm starting to hallucinate. The field is one large ocean and the swaths become the wake. I could be on the moon you see taking soil samples and such. I'm sore, bored and sleepy now and this is really starting to suck! Well, one more swath is one more buck and I really could care less. I don't want to get out of my seat and deal with that scratchy stuff. Now the day is finely over and I go to bed and rest. I wake up in the morning and hopefully I'm refreshed. 'But No' I'm just exhausted although I slept quite deep. You see, I combined all night long and I did it in my sleep! Who are these men called farmers who beat themselves to death? Five gallons of coffee and sleepless nights well, they must be masochistists. Now harvest time is almost done and it's time to drink some beer. To put this whole *&$*# ordeal behind us and come back and do it next year. Well, the harvest moon is in the east and the sun's setting in the west. It's hot and dry, and lots of dust and that about says all the rest.

[pattyfrance]

Excellent work. Very funny. Thank You.