To the editor:
On our farm, the sun
shines bright. Plowed and
disced, black, ready for
the sun to beat! If
Mother Nature begins the
spins, it becomes tornado
wind! The cure?
Billboards slotted to
dissipate the winds' spin.
Kiril has another answer again,
and again! I get to laugh
and cry! No sin!
My answers come from within!
All you have to do is try to grasp,
Snowfence on offense, wind, no
where else is this hymn.
Read this poem.
Smile with me and Him.
KIRIL SPIROFF
Chassell