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