Lay of the Spring by James McIntyre — Read

Let others sing their favourite lay, / From early morn till close of day, / More useful themes engage our pen, / We sing the lay of our good hen.

For she doth lay each morn an egg, / And it is full and large and big, / Abroad she doth never travel, / Happy she when scratching gravel.

And she loud cackles songs of praise / Every morn when e'er she lays, / Proud she is when she finds pickings / For to feed her brood of chickens.

It greatly puzzled her one day / When she found white nest egg of clay, / She knew some one did trick play her, / For she was no brick layer.

Vain and stately male bird stalks, / Leading his hens along the walks, / Proudly each feather in his tail / Makes rival roosters for to quail.

Our muse now soars on feathery wing, / And cheerful it doth hail the spring, / Bringing the sunshine and showers, / Green grass and buds and leafy bowers.

So pleasant is the month of May, / When bushes shoot out blooming spray, / 'Ere spring we're tired of winter's white, / Spring's varied colours do delight.