Classic Poem

It was awful long ago
— — That I put those seeds around;
And I guess I ought to know
— — When I stuck 'mdash in the ground.
'Cause I noted down the day
— — In a little diary book, —
It's gotten losted somewhere and
— — I don't know where to look.

But I'm certain anyhow
— — They've been planted most a week;
And it must be time by now
— — For their little sprouts to peek.
They've been watered every day
— — With a very speshul care,
And once or twice I've dug 'mdash up to
see if they were there.

I fixed the dirt in humps
— — Just the way they said I should;
And I crumbled all the lumps
— — Just as finely as I could.
And I found a nangle-worm
— — A-poking up his head, —
He maybe feeds on seeds and such,
and so I squushed him dead.

A seed's so very small,
— — And dirt all looks the same; —
How can they know at all
— — The way they ought to aim?
And so I'm waiting round
— — In case of any need;
A farmer ought to do his best for
every single seed!