Sometimes I feel sorry
For our poor hen Blue
She wanders ’round the homestead
Looking sad and…blue
She tries to join her old flock
Those mean and brutal hens
The older ones are heartless
They chase her from their pen
But then, when I’m most saddened
By her mournful cries
We find where she’s been laying
The eggs that we most prize
Behind the fragrant roses
We see her little clutch
And if we really want them
The thorns we’ll have to touch
It’s then I’m not too sorry
For her lonely plight
She’s repaid our love and kindness
With little thorny bites
a pinch of homestead 