Easter in the chicken yard.
He was strutting round the barnyard,
head held way up high.
“I’m the ole’ top rooster” he said
now let me tell you why.
The chicks they all dig me,
They think I am mighty grand,
I make Mr. farmer feed us right,
don’t let him mix the grain, with sand.
Wait, what is that in the straw pile,
eggs of a different color,
A red one, green one, blue one,
orange, purple, even one that’s yell-err
I know how those tinted eggs
get spread all out in the yard,
My detective power is flashing
I can tell you knowing, not that hard.
Oh, I saw Mr. Peacock, coming out of the
henhouse, every day this week,
The only thing I know to do,
go sock him hard right in his beak.
ronald j. curell