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Click hereThere once there was a baler named Bessy
It did the job but it was messy.
Red and gold, so bright and bold
When it was new but now it’s old.
And when it done broke
There was no hope that we would ever fix it.
We broke everything from the twine
To eventually the feeding tines.
The sheer pins snap with a loud POP
We even put a hole right through the top.
When it did break we’d cuss and sigh
It was enough to make a grown man cry.
So this baler we say we did borrow
Will just have to stay broke until the morrow.
our 'un-named' baler passed away too and is I'm sure, farming the heavens somewhere. But I'll talk to Grandpa, maybe there's still time to give her a name. This poem would fit nicely in the Farmers Almanac. Thanks.