To a Hen
by Rachel A. GoldYou scratch and cluck and lay and brag,
You fuss and set and hatch;
You sleep and eat and sometimes raise
Of biddies quite a batch.
Your faults are clear to every eye,
Where are your virtues kept?
Your joy is full, or so it seems,
When you have eaten and slept
Thus lives the aimless hen; while she
Is vainly trying, dumbly,
To hatch an old door knob, the rest
Are working gravely, humbly;
When she has laid an egg, her voice
Is filled with pride, conceit;
"Look what I've done" she seems to say,
"My work cannot be beat."
She hasn't nearly enough sense
To know that she is crazy,
On matters all, except herself,
This poor thing is quite hazy.
Or so it seems - that we would judge
Is something, quite forbidden
Tho this is true, tis but in death
I tolerate and love the hen.
Tuesday, 04-May-2010 14:48:24 EDT