The Ordinary Land

I’ve lingered in the vicinity
To be a tall and ordinary farmer.
As the fashion has exerted,
My opinion is an assumption, a proof.

The land has grown inwardly,
Creating jobs for the breakfast.
There’s no hurry with breaking
The doors and windows once fed.

I entered the room with the farmers,
They were idle and ringing and alert;
This unfriendliness was fiction,
Throwing pleasure and wands.