The New Nest

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

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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

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