All dressed in matching shirts, belt buckles and ties,
The big black boots made from leather,
And their pride and joy, sitting upon their head,
With the biggest brim, leather strap and a feather.
There’s headers and tractors, sprayers and drills,
Harvesters, loaders, and ploughs,
And the thousands of farmers, from this region,
All walk around and casually browse,
This new equipment for barley, sugar, or wheat
For fields of canola or fruit,
And a special buy is the new dog box, that simply sits,
Right on the back of their ute.
This is the site where farmers meet once a year,
Wheeling and dealing a rural parlay,
The hundred hectare paddock, transformed into,
The Henty Farm Machinery Field day.
M-ake it a field day,
E-njoy the circumstance;
R-ejoice with everybody,
C-all the old and
Y-oung ones.
N-ice and delightful moment
O-f fun, joy and cheer;
T-wenty-fifth morn in July,
A-llow the haze to disappear.
R-emember your birth,
T-aking the silence away;
E-xperience the mirth, make it a field day.
Time to have fun and play!
Time to compete and race!
Your hearts pounding!
You are sweating like crazy!
You move left, right, then back!
Try to get the ball to the team, try to make the goal!
Throw left or right.
Enemy team is not letting up!
Their all over you!
You try and try, but they wont back off!
A mental mind freak,
Or just your every day,
Run of the mill nut bar,
If you prefer.
Eloquently presented,
But not really.
Unless bat crap crazy
Dressed up as a pretty girl,
Is your cup of tea.
Making friends with the blade too much,
Making enemies with food even more.
Puff puff,
And there’s a pretty little smoke ring
From one of many chain smoked cigarettes.
Crazy you say?
Nope, most certainly not.
I’m just a bloody field day
For every one of those Freud wannabes.