"Cooped up too long, Chicken?" Asked Frisky, the frisky Fox."What you need's a stylish fur,Not feathers nor comb's cox.Come on out! Flee your coop,That's just the thing to do,And I have lovely recipesAbout which we might stew."Squawk the Hawk flew overheadAnd thought to claw a catch,As long any Chicken thoughtTo strut the barnyard patch."Come and smell the roses,"Squawk's hawking pitch cawed loud,"Though beaks aren't quite noses,They're chic in the chicken crowd." Frisky Fox and Squawk the HawkBided time's passing hours,In hasteless, tasty anticipationOf a Chicken amongst the flowers.Swoop would scoop as coop was left,While the fur surely frisky fly,And Chicken as commodityWould simmer, bake, roast or fry.So did Frisky Fox and Squawk the HawkPitch the pitch of the cooped up coop,In hopes that one chicken would prove to beA finger-licking nincompoop.Come on, summer, wine and roses,Ticking time many things exposes,Such as this and such as thatFlops into the fire from the fat.Every tale tells something rare,Clothed in metaphor or even bare.This one though is meant for fun,One day when there's just not enough sun."Come on, summer," Roses whine;They too like to bloom and shine.Like our Chicken, Fox and Hawk,Cooped up, to through a window gawk......at what might be and what will comeWhen one leaves a cooped condominium.Summers coming, don't you fret.On that sure thing you can bet.-- Jules' ninny mouse
"Cooped up too long, Chicken?"
ReplyDeleteAsked Frisky, the frisky Fox.
"What you need's a stylish fur,
Not feathers nor comb's cox.
Come on out! Flee your coop,
That's just the thing to do,
And I have lovely recipes
About which we might stew."
Squawk the Hawk flew overhead
And thought to claw a catch,
As long any Chicken thought
To strut the barnyard patch.
"Come and smell the roses,"
Squawk's hawking pitch cawed loud,
"Though beaks aren't quite noses,
They're chic in the chicken crowd."
Frisky Fox and Squawk the Hawk
Bided time's passing hours,
In hasteless, tasty anticipation
Of a Chicken amongst the flowers.
Swoop would scoop as coop was left,
While the fur surely frisky fly,
And Chicken as commodity
Would simmer, bake, roast or fry.
So did Frisky Fox and Squawk the Hawk
Pitch the pitch of the cooped up coop,
In hopes that one chicken would prove to be
A finger-licking nincompoop.
Come on, summer, wine and roses,
Ticking time many things exposes,
Such as this and such as that
Flops into the fire from the fat.
Every tale tells something rare,
Clothed in metaphor or even bare.
This one though is meant for fun,
One day when there's just not enough sun.
"Come on, summer," Roses whine;
They too like to bloom and shine.
Like our Chicken, Fox and Hawk,
Cooped up, to through a window gawk...
...at what might be and what will come
When one leaves a cooped condominium.
Summers coming, don't you fret.
On that sure thing you can bet.
-- Jules' ninny mouse