It was a goose who sadly cried,
"Alas! Alas! The farm is wide,
And large the barnyard company,
But no one ever looks at me;
There really seems to be no use,
Or praise, or glory, for a goose.
They pet the dog whose bark and bite
Scare tramps by day and thieves by night;
But when I bravely stand on guard,
And drive intruders from the yard,
They laugh at me. The kitten plays,
And all admire her cunning ways;
But when I venture in the room,
To play, in turn, some stick or broom
Soon drives me out. Those birds they call
Canaries cannot sing at all
In my sweet fashion; yet their lay
Is praised—from mine folks turn away.
They prize the horse who pulls the cart;
But when I try to do my part,
And mount the shafts to help him draw,
They whip me off. Last week I saw
Two stupid horses pull a plow,
I watched the work, I learned just how;
Then, with my bill, I did the same
In flower-beds, and got only blame.
It really seems of little use
To try to help—when one's a goose!"
