See the stopped to watch cyclists in the upper right corner?
On the way to the Recycle Center (here in Emmet County they only pick up the garbage; you bring in the containers, paper and cardboard, and sort them into large bins near the new Fire Station) we stopped to watch this parade. It made me first happy and then sad, when I couldn't find the pictures on the new magical camera. Later, after taking lots of test pictures of the inside of the car and parked cars, I found out where to look on my Android Samsung device and found that I had captured them after all! Rejoicing!
The turkeys wade the close to catch the bees
In the old border full of maple trees
And often lay away and breed and come
And bring a brood of chelping chickens home.
The turkey gobbles loud and drops his rag
And struts and sprunts his tail and then lets drag
His wing on ground and makes a huzzing noise,
Nauntles at passer-bye and drives the boys
And bounces up and flies at passer-bye.
The old dog snaps and grins nor ventures nigh.
He gobbles loud and drives the boys from play;
They throw their sticks and kick and run away.
—John Clare (1793-1864)
The story of the English 18th Century "peasant poer" John Clare is full of sadness: increasingly mad, he spent the latter part of his life in asylums. Yet his work has lasted and won new adherents for a long time. The Wikipedia article (link directly above) states that one of the features of his poems was his deliberate and continued use of his native dialect's vocabulary and grammar. This is evident in the poem above. You don't often encounter sprunts and nautles, or realize that you are wanting to make a huzzing or chelping noise---but in the context of the poem, they add flavor, not difficulty. You can also tell he was a serious poet with a mastery of rhyming pentameter.