“It`s quiet in the country”, least that`s what you said
on the night you decided that we two should wed.
So I packed up my bags and came over to spend
A fortnight which later became a week-end.
With the hoots of the owls and the bleats of the sheep
The atmosphere wasn`t conducive to sleep
I lay in bed counting them through until six
And then they were joined by the pigs and the chicks
I opened my window to look at the scene
Then closed it on hearing the milking machine
The clanking of buckets and clatter of clogs
Along with the incessant barking of dogs
That wasn`t all for among all these rows
Was your prize herd of fifty five pedigree cows.
Hark! Did I detect in some far distant pens?
The rooster’s loud crowing to waken the hens?
With the mooing and grunting and bleating and clucks
I nearly missed out on the geese and the ducks.
Another thing added to all this noise factor -
The unsuppressed engine of your ancient tractor.
I wasn`t surprised at the blast of a horn
I`d noticed them galloping up through the corn,
Yes. It was the huntsmen, their horses and hounds,
Even the farmyard was not out of bounds.
Although I was tired I then packed up in haste
For one minute more I just could not have faced.
I rushed to the station and jumped on the train
And swore that I`d never return there again.
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