From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 47-48.
THE ROOSTER
The rooster is a lusty bird;
In all the land his voice is heard,
A proud and haughty bird, by heck,
Who flaps his wings and curves his neck.
From east to west, from perch and pole,
His morning bugle echoes roll,
Arousing men form snoring deep
And maidens from their beauty sleep.
He hunts for worms with main and might,
And finding one, with huge delight,
To whet his harem’s appetite,
He calls his wives with trill and hum,
Then — humor great but manners bum —
He eats it up before they come.
Now, whether Red or Plymouth Rock,
One half is he of all the flock,
And chickens mostly favor dad
In qualities both good and bad.
But when the hatching season’s over,
We must restrain this gallant rover,
Must shut him up in lonely state,
And keep the layers celibate.
Their eggs will thus repay our toil
[48]
When fertile ones would quickly spoil.
The man who’d be a fresh egg booster
Must segregate that old he-rooster.