'Twas the early bird, Rhode Island Red,
she met, down at the barn with Mr. Rabbit,
negotiations were, as they were every year
about the price that would be fair for light brown eggs.
The rabbit, being middleman would pocket
a fair and pleasant seasonal reward,
the hen and all her sisters, cousins even nanas,
complained about their sphincters and their legs.
Each second, so it seemed, would then appear
a new one, some came out the speed of rockets
it all depended on what chickens had been fed
some liked their grains mixed in with ripe bananas,
as others sat and preened and pompadoured.
In any case, this Eastereggbaloney has become a habit.