hay

The hay dry as dust, groaned


The barn creaked and moaned,

The sun shining brightly

The workers not doing so lightly,

Parched from its heat, were de throaned.



Hours spent hunting

Days disappearing into nothing,

Where is that pen?

It’s not in the yard with the hen,

My face in frustration, it’s all too demanding!



There once was a young boy from Hawkes Bay,

All he ever did was make.

Trapped within its boarders,

Left alone with all the hoarders,

He dreamt of making it outside, one day.



Along time ago there was a Ute named Ford,

He was a four wheel beauty, the lord,

All admired his power,

He was a great devour,

His subjects mercifully paid his board.



They say it is the home of the Ring

Yet only one can be King

A city far away, named Wellington,

Some would say Hellington,

As that’s where they start to feel the ping.