There was a silent whisper from
my plow as. I was plowing the
field. With my one wheel plow
that was whispering as I push along the
field; with each passing though
do I feel As if it was getting to me
as the turning of the wheel kept whispering and making Mounds
of dirt my single wheel plow began
To whimper as it had a tatle tail cry
to it as the wheel keeps turning.
And connecting, and the collecting mound.
Starting to pile on together as I kept pushing though the lasting strain
of it as the little dig pit shovel that
digs and rips through the soil as it
Was nice clear day, astray I must
feel though as Will as if the mounds
of dirt. Began to fill where
The pile of dirt goes - still I find it will. And yet I don’t sundner any quarm
or any imperantives of any disorderly conduct. As I should and I would
Though as my plow kept turning
with it’s one wheel I was nearly done though on this mid day and my plows work was leaving the soil so it
Can stay.