the tired poultryman and his wife
The Tired Poultryman
Original Poem by my Great Uncle Walter, written at age 78
A Poultry Man is just a guy,
who has to stay at home and try,
to get his flock of hens to lay,
and make it pay another day.
He sits upon that same old pine,
a-rubbin' eggs until they shine,
so city folks who pass that way,
will never feel ashamed to pay,
a little bonus on the price,
for eggs that always are so nice,
and fresh as Daisies in the spring,
no better eggs are found "By Jing" and then at last when day is O'er,
and you have done up your last chore,
you try to make it to the house,
where there you meet your loving spouse.
Awaiting in the door for you,
and on the stove a nice hot brew,
an' coffee 'roma in the air,
but you'r too pooped to even care,
you just fall down as if you'r dead,
she has to drag you into bed,
an' tuck you in without you'r meal,
because she knows just how you feel.
The last you see is eggs galore! a-tumbling down upon the floor,
and hens a-cacklin' with delight,
they know just how you'll spend the night!
Now city folks they ain't that way,
they have both time for work and play,
an' take their gal out 'neath the trees,
and learn her 'bout the Birds and Bees,
and watch the golden arise,
an' count the stars up in the skies,
an' watch the wise old Owl flit by,
or hear the cunning Wild Cat cry.
While in his bed the Poultry Man,
is dreaming up a master plan,
of Super hens with Atomic eggs,
an' drumsticks large as horse's legs,
while thru the skies he tries again,
to capture one more straying hen.
But then "Alas!" the rooser cries,
you wipe the sweat off 'round your eyes,
an' rise to greet the morning sun,
another day has just begun,
and you are glad you made it thru,
so you can try it all anew!
*a younger, creative musician
*my grandmother, great uncle walter, their parents and siblings
*about 20 years ago, uncle walter, grandma and their brother
Original Poem by my Great Uncle Walter, written at age 78
A Poultry Man is just a guy,
who has to stay at home and try,
to get his flock of hens to lay,
and make it pay another day.
He sits upon that same old pine,
a-rubbin' eggs until they shine,
so city folks who pass that way,
will never feel ashamed to pay,
a little bonus on the price,
for eggs that always are so nice,
and fresh as Daisies in the spring,
no better eggs are found "By Jing" and then at last when day is O'er,
and you have done up your last chore,
you try to make it to the house,
where there you meet your loving spouse.
Awaiting in the door for you,
and on the stove a nice hot brew,
an' coffee 'roma in the air,
but you'r too pooped to even care,
you just fall down as if you'r dead,
she has to drag you into bed,
an' tuck you in without you'r meal,
because she knows just how you feel.
The last you see is eggs galore! a-tumbling down upon the floor,
and hens a-cacklin' with delight,
they know just how you'll spend the night!
Now city folks they ain't that way,
they have both time for work and play,
an' take their gal out 'neath the trees,
and learn her 'bout the Birds and Bees,
and watch the golden arise,
an' count the stars up in the skies,
an' watch the wise old Owl flit by,
or hear the cunning Wild Cat cry.
While in his bed the Poultry Man,
is dreaming up a master plan,
of Super hens with Atomic eggs,
an' drumsticks large as horse's legs,
while thru the skies he tries again,
to capture one more straying hen.
But then "Alas!" the rooser cries,
you wipe the sweat off 'round your eyes,
an' rise to greet the morning sun,
another day has just begun,
and you are glad you made it thru,
so you can try it all anew!
*a younger, creative musician
*my grandmother, great uncle walter, their parents and siblings
*about 20 years ago, uncle walter, grandma and their brother
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