I had a little Cockerel

I called it Cyril Two

Each morning as the sun would rise

He'd give a cock-a-do-doodle-doo


Sometimes I would throw my boot at him

to stop his little game

But each morning as the dawn arose

It was always the bleedin' same


I'd stuff my head beneath my pillow

and try to ignore his raucous crow

But Cyril Two was never put off

and increased volume until I showed


Even on weekends, or holidays

or whenever I was feeling sick

Cyril Two would welcome the dawn

He was really getting on my wick


He'd be so proudly crowing

perched on the hen house wall

And no matter how I tried to keep him quiet

Come morning he'd give vent to his evil call


So sadly and with a heavy heart

I knew just what had to be done

Make use of the sage and onion

as I did with Cyril One!!

Poetry and Prose Archives

Greebo T. Cat

15.07.04 Front Page

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