Grey, barren, flat land,
That is what a rock farm is.
No smiles or laughter.
Moving rocks northward,
By nudging them with my nose,
Dad gets paid for this?
My sisters and I
Would play "I spy" together.
It's always a rock.
Mom used to smile lots,
When Granny Pie would visit.
Now we visit her.
I'm no longer scared
By things that bump in the night;
I throw pretty hard.
Since she broke her hip,
Granny Pie can't visit us.
Her baking's awesome!
Dad told a joke once.
"Why'd the rock cross the road? It's
not sedentary."