Cock-A-Doodle-Do
“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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