Spring Chicken

I’m an old Hen now

A soft-hearted cow.

Most of my feathers ‘ave gone

Brightness has faded…

From my plumage

Let’s have a rummage

Through the memories…

Of when I was a Spring Chicken

I certainly ad’ a good ol’ forage

Certainly ad’ better pickings

All of my plumage shone—

Just like my life had begun.

The Cockerel’s eyes… I watched as they glittered

In the sun.

I know now my body’s not at my best

But them handsome cocks… they liked a bit of breast

My pitch went high—

When they rubbed against my thigh

One cock was proud,

He went around boasting

That I was so loud…

I was roasting—

My feathers were toasting

Against one another

I went a’ squawking

I ad’ to keep im’ in check.

I said ‘Enough of ya dorking’

He answered, ‘Honey, Hen, I made you tick.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘You’ve made me cross

and I rate you with noughts.’

I could see him start to gather his thoughts.

He flew at me quick—

I gave im’ a kick.

‘I’ve just laid an egg,

You ain’t getting the chick.

Don’t even try to beg.’

He went for my neck—

I gave his cheek a peck.