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“Cock-a-Doodle-Do”
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

There once was a very fine rooster.
He would strut with his wings spread out wide.
The hens in his pen called him “Brewster”.
They liked to flap around at his side.

“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!!  The day's light grew.”
Quickly off to lay eggs ran the gals.
He flew to his perch; boasted anew.
Protecting hens meant no time for pals.

One day he sat proudly on his roost,
Curious, “Grandson” came; he was three.
Brewster stretched out his neck, his craw loose.
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!!  Listen to me!”

“Grandson” loved to watch and feed the chickens.
Brewster crowed; the boy ran to the pen.
Neck stretched.  Beak aiming.  “Brew-roo” peckins’-
Little man.  Boo-booed hand.  Kiss would mend.

Brewster's life would never be the same.
Feelings hurt. “Grandson” sobbed for a while.
Grandma soothed at boy's side, rooster blamed.
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!!”  Sung in exile.

All the hens in the pen played and lay.
While inside, “Grandson” stayed well as new.
Quietly heard in the distance, “Hey!”
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!!  Boo-hoot, I’m stew!!!”

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