Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Hen's Complaint
Beside an incubator stood
The would-be mother of a brood.
With drooping wings and nodding head,
These are the clucked-out words she said:
'O, vile invention of the age,
You fill me with a burning rage!
Unfeeling monster, moved by steam,
You rob me of life's sweetest dream!
Deprived of offspring which I crave,
I must go childless to my grave.
My aching wings which long to cover
A chirping brood of nestlings over,
No more may know that comfort sweet,
Since chickens may be hatched by heat.
Three weeks of quiet expectation
(Full many a flighty hen's salvation)
I am denied, for now men say
A hen should be content to lay,
And furnish eggs to incubate,
And setting hens are out of date.
Alas, for such a cruel fashion-'
The angry fowl paused, choked with passion,
While from behind a strong hand caught her
And doused her in a tub of water.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Hen's Complaint by Ella Wheeler Wilcox )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
- Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- To an Athlete Dying Young, Alfred Edward Housman
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Falling Fast, Electric Lady
- All the World's a Stage, William Shakespeare
- Warning, Jenny Joseph