The Farm Poem

 The farm was usual enough; it had

Clear blue skies, woolly sheep, Grandma, singing birds,

And even a big glass house

I never went in. My grandma and I

Did what we liked to do- lay down in the squishy moss,

Counted the noisy birds going by over and over again,

Made huts in the dark scary forest, raced our paper

Boats down the stream, fed chickens or swung on the swings.

Doing nothing important. 

We used the recipe for James K Baxter's poem The Town and made it into our own poem