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Show Eggs Are Where You Find 'Em, Says Farmerette Cock-a-doodle-doo, the rooster and Cluck-cluck the hen, the fowl, fowl birds are at it again! I've searched through the orchard where brush scratched my legs, hunting the place where my hens lay their eggs. O'er field and through meadow at each cackle I race. I've sought for and found them all over the place. On the top of the haystack, in the ditch's dry bed, 'neath a bush in the garden, out under the shed. I've found them by dozens, but this sadly I tell When found they are old, much too old to sell. One hen chose the oven of a stove that's outside. Her eggs should have hatched, but instead were but fried. And one precious bfddy, when I opened the door, came in unalarmed to lay hers on the floor. But the prize of all stories, the one I like best, is of Penny, who out in the Ford made her nest. There she faithfully laid a brown egg each day, until once the old Ford was driven away. Up the street with a cluck-cluck. Down the street with a clack, she paced nervous 'til dark when the car was brought back. Then scarce had the driver opened the door 'til Penny was in and laid her egg in the car. I find eggs all day In my dreams they're piled higher. Priorities will not let me buy chicken wire. A chicken is foolish eggzactly a goop. For she'll lay anywhere except in the coop. The Washington Fields Farmerette. |