The land etched with greenery

and its earth studded with roots,

bright and orange ones

like Mr. Larry’s boots.

Boots that he wears everyday

and brings them home soiled,

the very ones that let him check

all that he has toiled.

He doesn’t earn a lot you see

for boots are all he owns,

and a tractor and a chicken

almost starved to bones.

Thus his carrots can do wonders

in the freezing winters to come,

unless creatures lurk over them

from the Earth’s bottom.

And on a cold autumn morning

he spotted something pale,

he couldn’t let a little rabbit

spoil all his orange sale.

In a fit of pique

to save his caving yield,

Larry moved his tractor

and drove o’er the field.

It was the wrath of a farmer

the rabbit surely died,

but crushed were the carrots too

and the field was viridescently dyed.

It was mere stupidity

to nourish his inner heat,

nevertheless he survived winter

over rabbit and chicken meat.