Sunday, November 27, 2011

Faery Folk



On the table in the house of a friend
I spied these faery creatures.
Decked in all their finery,
With their oh-so-perfect features.
The little ones at the front
Were pixie-like and childish;
With an air of naughtiness
That was verging on the wildish.
The ones at the back were regal,
Yet with a rustic air;
Just like Gypsy Princesses
They were standing there.
Though not the least bit 'crafty',
I can admire the skill
That went to make these china dolls,
And each ribbon and each frill.
How good it is that we vary
In our interests, every one;
Hobbies add so much to life
And life is made for fun.


Oh Chantcleer! Oh Chanticleer!
Thy name means simply this....'sing clear'.
Thy penchant, with the sun in view,
Is to shout a 'Cockadoodle doo!'
When I hear thy raucous note
Emitting from thy feathery throat,
I don't consider thou art 'singing';
Thy screeching sets my poor ears ringing!
Now take the gentle little hen,
She simply 'Clucks' now and again.
Her peck-peck-peck on seed-sown ground
And her pleasant crooning sound
Are more appealing to my ears!
Thy racket brings me close to tears!
And all thy nonsense with thy comb!
Fanning it out above thy dome!
And all thy silly wattle-waving!
That's not what thy wives are craving!
Now I'm a rampant feminist;
(Though I never minded being kissed!).
To me thou art a typical male!
Making a noise! Fanning a tale!
Strutting about on two skinny legs!
But no good at all at laying eggs!
Oh Chantcleer! Oh Chanticleer!
Thou art even worse when you've had a beer!

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