Rooster

        Rooster 

  Was it chicken or was it egg, it was not rooster that we beg. They assured me all are layers, not a cock within we peg. 
  But beyond the eighth week on his comb and size had told me that the real fight was on. And the quiet mornings sleeping in were all but assured were gone. 
  But what a handsome lad, as all his lady’s did agree. That one need not turn your back on him , or he would make a mess of me. 
  But I the Rooster is not my only reason is not but just to procreate. But real is my job to protect all my ladies here, to defend against all predators, not only all the day that’s long, but long after that it is late.
  So before the morning light, before I sing my song, before the potted soup of confectioners immune booster. I would like the chance to perform the dance, and hold my head high and sing cock a do doll do, and announce that I am the Rooster.
By GWRoggenbuck