The Hen

I saw a hen go ‘cross the street

     With slow and stately tread;

She seemed to have an end in view,

     And never turned her head.

“Why goes that hen across the street?”

     Inquired a passerby,

“I know she does it every day,

     But not the reason why.”

“You speak the truth,” I made reply,

     “She crosses every day;

And yet the garden over here

     Is equal every way.

She will not stay where she belongs

     Though land she has to spare;

She must go on the other side

     To see what’s over there.”

“Alas!” My friend, it’s just the same

     With all the human race;

Hens will not stay where they belong

     Though they’ve a better place.

‘Tis naught for which they are to blame,

     They’ve learned it from the men;

Tell me why men go ‘cross the street

     And I’ll explain the hen.

Sept. 28, ‘09