The Old Shanghai

the old Shanghai, that most devoted friend doing a duty so faithfully, crowing, rousing the farmer at break of dawn; the proud Shanghai, arrogantly strutting off, chest out, white plumes advertising his place among feathered brethrens in the farm; the lusty Shanghai, flirting with a harem of adoring hens if not fighting a rooster over some slight, imagined or otherwise, though actually just attracting attention from other hens; the loyal Shanghai, keeping his farmer-friend company through many years of rain or shine, never demanding anything in return just his daily feeds, a friend indeed; late waking up one morning the farmer, when the sun is bright high up in the sky; damn that Shanghai not to rouse him! rubbing his eyes, rushing to the barn to scold the lazy fowl forgetting his job; tears flowing down the farmer's face, eyes on a form prone on the ground; leaving him without saying goodbye, the Shanghai has died in the night; no more the old, faithful Shanghai for him greeting a brand-new morn when the tired world again awakens in bold renewal, new hope bringing; I miss that old Shanghai of mine.