Best Hoti Poems

My furrow’s too shallow;
the farro’s gone fallow.
To foul things up thorough,
I can’t plant my yarrow.
Can I borrow your burro?
My barrow’s too narrow,
my plow’s in a burrow,
and I’m clouded with furor.
The cargo from the borough
to my sorrow’s in Fargo,
but my mood might will mellow
if it’s here...

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