The Lard Feast Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The Lard Feast

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A rooster, feathered and well fed
was sitting on his waterbed.
He swayed and felt some vertigo
the cause of which is hard to know.
His favourite hen, who was still chaste
was getting dressed in a big haste.
They were expected in the yard
where they would have a feast of lard.
The farmer's brother with his gun
had killed a porker (not for fun) .
Since they were Yanks they only ate
pork chops and roasts.. At any rate
they'd dump the lard in a big mound
right on the, slightly dirty, ground.
The chickens went and ate their fill
and did appreciate the kill.
Perhaps for you the question begs,
did they lay more or fewer eggs?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Allan James Saywell 01 July 2008

Herbert i will always be a fan of yours you have a devil in your poetry and you are honest in your thought your poetry always gives me cause to think and you are loyal AJS

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David Taylor 01 July 2008

piled up high that piggin lard in that yankee farmers' yard fark cry the roosters on there beds get the chicks all dressed fat chance we have if they are chaste the only egg is on our face.

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