Water Race Plough
Across the plains of Canterbury The water races ran In the early days they were boxed with wood To hold the water if they can
As the years went bye the wood rotted all away But the water still ran well Until the water-weed choked the flow And supply to a trickle fell
To clean them out a race plough was bought A wedge shaped sledge divine And to catch the bits that fell back in The job of course was mine
Behind the old Marshall tractor we headed Across the Lighthouse farm we went Bucking and jumping all the day Wielding a long handle fork with all the tynes a bent
While swinging round a bend in that race The plough reared up and rolled And through the air I was pitched When landing on the bank I found my entire story told.
Mark Thrice
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