Can pigs fly?

Over the fields of rye,

Across the sea of blue,

Through civilisation and its flue.


Can birds lie?

In a manner so sly.

To and observant audience;

The sun so bright – oh, a great ambience!


Can the moon not shine?

Down on the farm, for the lover saying,

“Girl, my girl, will you be mine?”

With his heart beating fast and him, praying.


Can the storm subside?

For a scarecrow at stand,

Guarding the farm – day and night,

From the goods and evils of the land.

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