A woman's job it is to gather
the eggs at dawn on our farm,
while hubby whips up shaving lather
and grandma keeps the woodstove warm.
The rooster sounds an early warning,
both to the flock and to the thief,
that's the routine for every morning -
but I'll keep this cantata brief.
Our crafty chickens try their best
to let their offspring have a start,
constructing many decoy nests
whenever they're not laying hard.
The rooster is a real cock.
He struts around the barnyard, preening,
picks favourite hens within his flock
and shares with them - you get my meaning.
What happens in the morning after
he doesn't care about at all.
When he is sitting in the rafters
to plan another 'service call'.
The moral of the story is:
If men were charged with crucial duties,
the world would be a sorry mess.
Just ask our little chicken beauties.