The Beautiful Land of Nod | ||
67
THE HEN'S COMPLAINT.
Beside an incubator stood
The would-be mother of a brood.
The would-be mother of a brood.
With drooping wings and nodding head,
These are the clucked-out words she said:
These are the clucked-out words she said:
“O, vile invention of the age,
You fill me with a burning rage!
You fill me with a burning rage!
Unfeeling monster, moved by steam,
You rob me of life's sweetest dream!
You rob me of life's sweetest dream!
Deprived of offspring which I crave,
I must go childless to my grave.
I must go childless to my grave.
My aching wings which long to cover
A chirping brood of nestlings over,
A chirping brood of nestlings over,
No more may know that comfort sweet,
Since chickens may be hatched by heat.
Since chickens may be hatched by heat.
Three weeks of quiet expectation
(Full many a flighty hen's salvation)
(Full many a flighty hen's salvation)
68
I am denied, for now men say
A hen should be content to lay,
A hen should be content to lay,
And furnish eggs to incubate,
And setting hens are out of date.
And setting hens are out of date.
Alas, for such a cruel fashion—”
The angry fowl paused, choked with passion,
The angry fowl paused, choked with passion,
While from behind a strong hand caught her
And doused her in a tub of water.
And doused her in a tub of water.
The Beautiful Land of Nod | ||