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I apologize that it's been a month since I wrote the last two chapters but I had other things going on here and with life but I was sifting through some old notes and found this.
Derek awoke with a start. His head was pounding. It was still dark outside and the wind was raging. He could hear the branches of the crab apple tree scratching the window.
I never quite knew who lived next door. Fleeting glimpses through the curtains. They certainly appeared to be very poor. That I'm sure was very certain. The house was in a state of total disrepair.
#bestofopuss/Toms My father never seemed to change Not even as I grew, With hair as white as buttermilk And eyes of cornflower blue.
Guess it's time to make a move mum. Do I really have to go jack I don't think I will last in that bloody home.
.•*I believe in unicorns by Moon-Child*•. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX The next day Lucas Wilber McDonald got his seven grandchildren back into the family room and re-lit the fire.
#colourchallenge Rows upon rows, of exotic spice; She picks them once, she picks them thrice. For forty years, she has bent down low; Plucked delicate petals, from the crocus below.
The diary of Robert Scotts Guess it's time to make a move mum. Do I really have to go jack I don't think I will last in that bloody home.
Down by riverside road, Where the water is cool And the people are young, So they all go to school. Down by riverside road, Where the starlings squawk And the crabs just scuttle Instead of walk.
She was woken up like she always was by the cockerels willing her awake. She would have to talk to Mrs Crick, the landlady about moving them, although they did provide her with a good alarm clock.
This poem was written for the 70th birthday celebration of a former farmer and cricket fanatic. By Tom May.
I keep the memories, of the yellow wooden house, red roof built, with my grandfather's own arthritic hands Compactly built, but amply providing, family space for over 60 years, warm and...
Golden rays of happiness, Reach down from the heaven above, To kiss the surrounding prairie.
My life's not bad, Sometimes it can be tough, But I spend my time, Chilling in the hut. I live by simple means, I've got my cane, I've got my tobacco, I've got my rum.
Takes me somewhere else. Where an old woman sitting on a rocking chair next to the window. Pink, white, yellow, and red flowers spread outside.
Up there the Sun is a big yellow duster Polishing the blue, blue sky With white fluffy clouds in a cluster Hanging on a breeze to dry Trees everywhere With blossoms in their hair And Mother Nature...
Crops are being harvested. The smell of grass fills the air. The tractors keep on humming... Getting ready for the country fair. The bales are being made, They're laying out in the field.
#augustwriteaday #country. Blue skies, bright white clouds,. Rows of luscious corn,. Thatched roofs and brown cows,. Lashing midnight storm,. Acoustic music,. Country folk,. Pitchforks, scarecrows,.
My cousin's not a farming lad That's what I've surmised; He couldn't pick tomatoes Or muck out a pig sty.
Chester and Earl are going hunting. Chester says to Earl, "I'll send my dog out to see if there are any ducks out in the pond.
All of our food was home grown in the surrounding land that must have been some 11 acres. We had some of the most exotic fruits and vegetables from around the world non native to where we lived.
A bunnies death Is never pleasant Especially when Everyone loved it It started with a voice That was in moderate panic There was a snake in the rabbit hutch We all stood up, very frantic "wake up,...
You look so pale and sad, old friend Since you chose the city life For bonuses and boardrooms And a siliconed trophy wife. Come back to the old Blackwater boy.
He spends his whole day. Out in the rain. He's such a good chap. He isn't a pain. Looking after his crops. His animals to. Without this great man. There's nothing for you. He's dirty, he smells.