Golden Egg by James McIntyre — Read

In ancient times we have been told / A goose did lay an egg of gold, / She did produce one every day, / So regular this goose did lay.

But her stupid foolish master / Wanted her to lay them faster, / And he at last the goose did kill, / Gold grist no more came to his mill.

But a strange tale we now unfold, / In California's mines of gold, / There they keep both hens and chickens, / 'Mong the gravel scratching pickings.

But hens do find the golden shiner, / Is too heavy for their dinner, / For it they cannot well digest, / As it lies solid in their breast.

Then they are slain and you behold / In their craw the shining gold, / Made up of particles so fine, / The purest gold in all the mine.

Then how happy is the miner, / When he has sweet fowl for dinner, / And he doth find within its craw, / A little golden bonanza.

And in Ontario the hen / Is worthy of the poet's pen, / For she doth well deserve the praise / Bestowed on her for her fine lays.