Chicken Pox.

~

Lately I’ve written some pretty bad stuff,
but then again I’m still just a newbie.
So I’ll give it a spin and see where it ends,
and you! you’ll ride as my shotgun.

~

Tell me something you see that I’ve missed,
while I tell you the story of Hagrun.
Hagrun was not your old country-boy,
he came from the inner city.

~

Now, Hagrun had spent his life in the army,
and travelled to all parts of the world.
But then he retired and met and he married
a good old country-girl.

~

She convinced him to come and give it a try –
Love can lure the fish from the fry.
Hagrun bought his property cheaply,
with which had the land to do something.

~

‘I’ll go into business! chickens and eggs!’
‘That should be pretty easy.’
He built him a coop and wired it up
and acquired the requisite components.

~

At the Farmer’s Co-op he’d bought all his chicks,
and some food so’s they’d be fat and happy.
Hundreds, nay! thousands, of baby peeps,
cheeping and scratching away.

~

Then one week an out-law came
(his darling dear wife’s little mother),
she came for a visit and a short stay.
Nosey meander she moseyed to where

~

Hagrun and his chicks were busy.
‘Dear Son,’ she said,
‘What have you here?’

‘Some chickens,’ was Hagrun’s reply.

~

‘I’m gonna get rich selling eggs and chickens’
‘and eat chicken every Sunday.’
His out-law cackled, snuffled, and laughed,

‘Not with these, Dear Son, no you won’t!’

~

‘For these are not chickens, ‘

‘but all baby roosters!’

A pox has fallen down upon Hagrun,
and all of his city chagrin.

.

.

.

©Marvin Loyd Welborn 2011

.

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