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I went to the Tunbridge World’s Fair
Walked among the salt of the earth while there
So proud of the work they had done
And of the ribbons they won
The pigs and the piglets were squealing; the Morgan’s they were appealing
The cows they appeared to not care
The roosters were strutting; the sheep’s wool they were cutting
A child costumed like her goat what a pair
I work in a room with no window
Fresh is not what I would call the air
The building is old; probably full of black mold
And the stress sometimes more than I can bare
I guess I envy the farmer
Watching their crops and livestock grow
Milking the cows; feeding the sows
And all of the other seeds that they sow
A farmer’s life I know is not easy
The end for the livestock makes me quite queasy
On my grandmother’s farm; the butcher’s presence would cause such alarm
Her breathing would get very wheezy
Still I would like more time in fresh air
For animals and crops I could care
Since it can’t be; it’s not meant for me
I can feel a part once a year at the fair

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