Turnips and Turnups

‘s harvest time at the turnip farm
The farmer works busy in the sun
Drives off shrews, pulls of weeds
Protects his prized turnip fields

All depends on them precious roots
Neeps are his main livelihood
He eats them as stew and mousse
And sells them as turnip juice

Yet something wicked his way comes:
A large herd of nasty, hungry boars
Them peer out from the nearby forest
Ready to scoff all the turnip harvest…
/shiver

Evening comes and it turns dark
The farmer hears his dog bark
He dashes out to his fields
And sees the horror of his dreams:

It’s all rampage, roar and plunder
The boars are tearing things asunder
The dog tries his best to drive them off
But it’s too scared to do its job

Yet the farmer feels no fear
His face turns red from ear to ear
Using his pitchfork as a weapon
He gives them boars a stinging lesson

The boars think it wiser to retreat
Even though they lost their feast
But as they are quite pig-headed
They soon try ‘nother neep raid
And another…
And another…
But them always get beaten by the farmer.

One day, Miss Almi passes by
Sees the farmer napping neath the sky
“Why are yer sleeping on your field
Among the bugs and dirty neeps?

The farmer tells her everything
About them boars, their raiding
Now he must stay and guard the fields
Not to lose his treasured neeps

Miss Almi grins with a thought:
“I know a way to make this stop:”
“Make another field near the forest”
“With some neeps for them creatures.”

The farmer nods, it sounds good
To keep them boars away with food
He plants a field, as suggested
But still, he feels slightly restless…

Will this plan work?
Will it satisfy the pork?
Will he still need his pitchfork?

Weeks pass, time passes on
It seems that the boars are gone
The farmer enjoys peaceful sleep
There’s no need to guard his neeps

One day, there’s knock on the door
It’s Miss Almi, with a smile obscure
“The boars have returned”, she smiles
As she gives a box with pies:

“Thanks for feeding them boars”
“They will prosper years from now”
“What goes around, comes around”
“That’s my favourite hunting rhyme”
“Because it ends… with a pie.”