Chickens! - Poem by John Hull
To help the family budget my Grandmama and me
kept chickens in our garden, for which I'd built a cree.
The eggs each morn she gathered, in her little pail,
and a notice in our window offered them for sale.
One of our neighbours, a dame who lived alone
asked if we would help her get some chickens of her own.
My Gran and her being friendly, we readily agreed
and, best we could, we fixed her up with all that she would need.
Things went well and all her chicks soon began to lay
and we felt we'd done our bit to set her on her way.
Time went by and kindly Gran thought to pay a call
to find out if the lady needed anything at all.
So pleased she was to see her, for all was far from well,
her hens had all stopped laying, why she could not tell.
One thing more, the lady said, was needful of correction,
it seemed as though the hens had lost all sense of direction.
Although hens are awkward, and walk a zig-zag track,
at least their heads point forward, but these all pointed back.
So concerned had been the lady, lest her chicks were lost,
she must do something quickly to guard against the frost.
She really had been busy keeping warm her little flock
for each and every-one of them wore a knitted frock.
This, Gran said was why they'd all gone off the lay;
comparing clothes with other hens was taking them all day.
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