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Farmer Jon's Longjohns, A Poem by Pat Olson

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Farmer Jon's Longjohns
Poem by Pat Olson

The sky it is sapphire,

The sun shines so gold,

There's chill in the meadow,

And mist in the fold,

The pumpkins lie lazy,

And fat on the vine,

The keg it is oozing,

With blackberry wine,

The aroma of apple pies,

Fills the room,

The shortened days,

Cannot come too soon,

We'll bob for apples,

From a big, wooden tub,

And warm by the fire,

On Peggy's woollen rug,

Shepherd Oak will don,

His brown, corduroy suit,

As he sits him down,

To play his lute,

Under his smockfrock,

Shepherd Pete will wear,

A golden flannel shirt,

To match his flaxen hair,

The season turns,

The nights grow cold,

Farmer Jon gathers us round,

To tell tales of old,

Of King Arthur's knights in armour,

And damsels so fair,

Clad in gossamer gowns

And wearing plaited hair,

We long for these eves,

When the harvest work is done,

And we can feast and honour

The declining sun.

Then comes the night,

When the cold sets in,

And we pull the counterpane

Up to our chins.

And outdoors in the garden,

Jack Frost makes merry,

He leaps and dances

And does not tarry...

...but touches the fruit,

And food of the vine,

And leaves Farmer John's

fresh-washed long johns,

Stiff as a board,

On the clothesline!



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