Classic Poem

I have a ranch of quite unknown extent,
Its turnips great, its oats without compare;
And all the ranches other men may rent
And [ sic ] not like mine — so not a dern I care

'Tis all my own — no turnstile power may rise
To keep me outward from its rich domain;
It hath a fence that time itself defies,
And all invaders must climb out again.

'Tis true sometimes with stones 'tis overcast,
And troublous clods offend the sens'tive sight;
Yet from the furrows I these so quickly blast,
Their radiant seams do show more clear and bright.

It hath a sow — my sow — whose love for grain
No swearing subject will dispute;
Her swill is mine, and all my slops her gain,
And when she squeaks my heart with love is mute.