A Question

Wheneer I feed the barnyard folk
My gentle soul is vexed;
My sensibilities are torn
And I am sore perplexed.

The rooster so politely stands
While waiting for his food,
But when I feed him, what a change!
He then is rough and rude.

He crowds his gentle wives aside
Or pecks them on the head;
Sometimes I think it would be best
If he were never fed.

And so I often stand for hours
Deciding which is right
To impolitely have enough,
Or starve and be polite.

Ellis Parker Butler

Ellis Parker Butler was an American author, humorist, and poet, best known for his short story 'Pigs Is Pigs.' Born on December 5, 1869, in Muscatine, Iowa, Butler became a prolific writer, contributing to numerous magazines and books over his career. He is remembered for his wit and humor, which marked his work. Butler passed away on September 13, 1937.

Ellis Parker Butler

The Ballade Of The Mistletoe Bough

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

The Ballad Of A Bachelor

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

Mary Had A Little Frog

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

Immortality

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

English

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A Pastoral

Just as the sun was setting
Back of the Western hills
Grandfather stood by the window
Eating the last of his pills.

And Grandmother, by the cupboard,
Knitting, heard him say:
I ought to have went to the village
To fetch some more pills today.

Then Grandmother snuffled a teardrop
And said. It is jest like I suz
T th parsonGrandfathers liver
Aint what it used to was:

Its gittin torpid and dormant,
It dont function like of old,
And even them pills he swallers
Dont seem no more t catch hold;

They used to grab it and shake it
And joggle it up and down
And turn dear Grandfather yaller
Except when they turned him brown;

I remember when we was married
His liver was lively and gay,
A kickin an...

Ellis Parker Butler

The Precipitate Cock And The Unappreciated Pearl

A rooster once pursued a worm
That lingered not to brave him,
To see his wretched victim squirm
A pleasant thrill it gave him;
He summoned all his kith and kin,
They hastened up by legions,
With quaint, expressive gurgles in
Their oesophageal regions.

Just then a kind of glimmering
Attracting his attention,
The worm became too small a thing
For more than passing mention:
The throng of hungry hens and rude
He skilfully evaded.
Said he, "I' faith, if this be food,
I saw the prize ere they did."

It was a large and costly pearl,
Belonging in a necklace,
And dropped by some neglectful girl:
Some people are so reckless!
The cock assumed an air forlorn,
And cried, "It's really cruel.
I thought it was a grain of corn:
It'...

Guy Wetmore Carryl

Verses Addressed To A Country Clergyman, Complaining Of The Disagreeableness Of The Day Annually Appointed For Receiving The Dues At The Parsonage

Come, ponder well, for tis no jest,
To laugh it would be wrong,
The troubles of a worthy priest,
The burden of my song.


This priest he merry is and blithe
Three quarters of a year:
But oh! it cuts him like a scythe,
When tithing time draws near.


He then is full of fright and fears,
As one at point to die,
And long before the day appears,
He heaves up many a sigh.


For then the farmers come jog, jog,
Along the miry road,
Each heart as heavy as a log,
To make their payments good.


In sooth the sorrow of such days
Is not to be expressd,
When he that takes and he that pays
Are both alike distressd.


Now all unwelcome at his gates
The clumsy swains alight,
With rueful faces an...

William Cowper

The Common Question

Behind us at our evening meal
The gray bird ate his fill,
Swung downward by a single claw,
And wiped his hooked bill.

He shook his wings and crimson tail,
And set his head aslant,
And, in his sharp, impatient way,
Asked, "What does Charlie want?"

"Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck
Your head beneath your wing,
And go to sleep;" but o'er and o'er
He asked the self-same thing.

Then, smiling, to myself I said
How like are men and birds!
We all are saying what he says,
In action or in words.

The boy with whip and top and drum,
The girl with hoop and doll,
And men with lands and houses, ask
The question of Poor Poll.

However full, with something more
We fain the bag would cram;
We sigh above our crowded n...

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Sheep

The Sheep adorns the landscape rural
And is both singular and plural,
It gives grammarians the creeps
To hear one say, A flock of sheeps.

The Sheep is gentle, meek and mild,
And led in herds by man or child,
Being less savage than the rabbit,
Sheep are gregarious by habit.

The Sheep grows wool and thus promotes
The making of vests, pants and coats,
Vests, pants and coats and woolen cloths
Provide good food for hungry moths.

With vegetables added to
The Sheep, we get our mutton stew,
Experiments long since revealed
The Sheep should first be killed and peeled.

Thus, with our debt to them so deep,
All men should cry Praise be for Sheep!
And, if we happen to be shepherds,
Praise be theyre not as fierce as leopards!

Ellis Parker Butler

When The Frost Is On The Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here -
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the la...

James Whitcomb Riley