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Chicken Poems

Table of Contents

  1. Beckon to the Chickens by Friedrich Fröbel
  2. The Hearty Hen by Anonymous
  3. Chanticleer by Katherine Tynan Hinkson
  4. The Pert Chicken by Marian Douglas
  5. At Cock-Crow by John B. Tabb
  6. The Clocking-Hen by Aunt Effie
  7. Higgleby, Piggleby, My Black Hen by Anonymous
  8. Reminding the Hen by Bessie Chandler
  9. The Chickens by D. A. T.
  10. Our Banta Rooster by Ed. Blair
  11. Not a Spring Chicken by Ed. Blair
  12. Cackle, Cackle, Plymouth Rocks by Ed. Blair
  13. The Hens by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

Poems About Chickens

  1. Beckon to the Chickens

    by Friedrich Fröbel

    Beckon to the chickens small,
    Come, dear chickens, one and all!

  2. The Hearty Hen

    by Anonymous

    A happy old hen met a discontented duck.
    Cluck! cluck! Quack! quack! quack!
    Said she "I always have the very worst of luck.
    Quack! quack! quack!"
    Said she, "Of happiness I never lack!
    Cluck! cluck! cluck!"

    "But what do you do when it rains all day?
    Quack! quack! quack!"
    "I find a cozy corner and there I stay!
    Cluck! cluck! cluck!"

    "And what do you do when the sun is hot?
    Quack! quack! quack!"
    "My chicks and I find a shady spot!
    Cluck! cluck! cluck!"

    "And what will you do when you're killed to be eaten?
    Quack! quack! quack!"
    "I'll make a potpie that can't be beaten!
    Cluck! cluck! cluck!"

  3. Chanticleer

    by Katherine Tynan Hinkson

    Of all the birds from East to West
    That tuneful are and dear,
    I love that farmyard bird the best,
    They call him Chanticleer.

    Gold plume and copper plume,
    Comb of scarlet gay;
    'Tis he that scatters night and gloom,
    And whistles back the day!

    He is the sun's brave herald
    That, ringing his blithe horn,
    Calls round a world dew-pearled
    The heavenly airs of morn.

    O clear gold, shrill and bold!
    He calls through creeping mist
    The mountains from the night and cold
    To rose and amethyst.

    He sets the birds to singing,
    And calls the flowers to rise;
    The morning cometh, bringing
    Sweet sleep to heavy eyes.

    Gold plume and silver plume,
    Comb of coral gay;
    'Tis he packs off the night and gloom,
    And summons home the day!

    Black fear he sends it flying,
    Black care he drives afar;
    And creeping shadows sighing
    Before the morning star.

    The birds of all the forest
    Have dear and pleasant cheer,
    But yet I hold the rarest
    The farmyard Chanticleer.

    Red cock or black cock,
    Gold cock or white,
    The flower of all the feathered flock,
    He whistles back the light!

  4. The Pert Chicken

    by Marian Douglas

    There was once a pretty chicken;
    But his friends were very few,
    For he thought that there was nothing
    In the world but what he knew:
    So he always, in the farmyard,
    Had a very forward way,
    Telling all the hens and turkeys
    What they ought to do and say.
    "Mrs. Goose," he said, "I wonder
    That your goslings you should let
    Go out paddling in the water;
    It will kill them to get wet."

    "I wish, my old Aunt Dorking,"
    He began to her, one day,
    "That you wouldn't sit all summer
    In your nest upon the hay.
    Won't you come out to the meadow,
    Where the grass with seeds is filled?"
    "If I should," said Mrs. Dorking,
    "Then my eggs would all get chilled."
    "No, they won't," replied the chicken,
    "And no matter if they do;
    Eggs are really good for nothing;
    What's an egg to me or you?"

    "What's an egg!" said Mrs. Dorking,
    "Can it be you do not know
    You yourself were in an eggshell
    Just one little month ago?
    And, if kind wings had not warmed you,
    You would not be out to-day,
    Telling hens, and geese, and turkeys,
    What they ought to do and say!

    "To be very wise, and show it,
    Is a pleasant thing, no doubt;
    But, when young folks talk to old folks,
    They should know what they're about."

  5. At Cock-Crow

    by John B. Tabb

    Crow! For the night has thrice denied
    The glory of the Sun,
    And now, repentant, turns aside
    To weep what he has done.

  6. The Clocking-Hen

    by Aunt Effie

    "Will you take a walk with me,
    My little wife, today?
    There's barley in the barley-field,
    And hay-seed in the hay."

    "Thank you," said the Clocking-hen;
    "I've something else to do:
    I'm busy sitting on my eggs,
    I cannot walk with you."

    "Clock, clock, clock, clock,"
    Said the Clocking-hen:
    "My little chicks will soon be hatched,
    I'll think about it then."

    The Clocking-hen sat on her nest,
    She made it in the hay;
    And warm and snug beneath her breast
    A dozen white eggs lay.

    Crack, crack, went all the eggs,
    Out dropt the chickens small!
    "Clock," said the Clocking-hen,
    "Now I have you all."

    "Come along, my little chicks,
    I'll take a walk with YOU."
    "Hallo!" said the barn-door Cock,
    "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

  7. Higgleby, Piggleby, My Black Hen

    by Anonymous

    Higgleby, piggleby, my black hen,
    She lays eggs for gentlemen;
    Sometimes nine, and sometimes ten,
    Higgleby, piggleby, my black hen.

  8. Reminding the Hen

    by Bessie Chandler

    “It’s well I ran into the garden,”
    Said Eddie, his face all aglow;
    “For what do you think, mamma, happened?
    You never will guess it, I know.
    The little brown hen was there clucking;
    ‘Cut-cut!’ she’d say, quick as a wink,
    Then ‘Cut-cut’ again, only slower;
    And then she would stop short and think.

    “And then she would say it all over—
    She did look so mad and so vext;
    For, mamma, do you know, she’d forgotten
    The word she ought to cluck next.
    So I said ‘Ca-daw-cut,’ ‘Ca-daw-cut,’
    As loud and as strong as I could.
    And she looked ’round at me very thankful
    I tell you, it made her feel good.

    “Then she flapped, and said, ‘Cut-cut—ca-daw-cut!’
    She remembered just how it went, then,
    But it’s well I ran into the garden,—
    She might never have clucked right again!”

  9. The Chickens

    by D. A. T.

    See! the chickens round the gate
    For their morning portion wait;
    Fill the basket from the store,
    Let us open wide the door;
    Throw out crumbs and scatter seed,
    Let the hungry chickens feed.
    Call them; now how fast they run,
    Gladly, quickly, every one!
    Eager, busy hen and chick,
    Every little morsel pick;
    See the hen, with callow brood,
    To her young how kind and good!
    With what care their steps she leads!
    Them, and not herself, she feeds,
    Picking here and picking there,
    Where the morsels nicest are.

    As she calls they flock around,
    Bustling all along the ground;
    When their daily labors cease,
    And at night they rest in peace,
    All the little things
    Nestle close beneath her wings;
    There she keeps them safe and warm,
    Free from fear and free from harm.

    Now, my little child, attend:
    Your almighty Father, Friend,
    Though unseen by mortal eye,
    Watches o’er you from on high;
    As the hen her chickens leads,
    Shelters, cherishes, and feeds,
    So by Him your feet are led,
    Over you His wings are spread.

  10. Our Banta Rooster

    by Ed. Blair

    We've got a banta rooster at our home, 'n' papa said
    Afore we had him quite a week, et he wished he was dead.
    Acuse that banta when he ought to be asleep at night,
    'Ll jes' begin to crow right then 'n' crow with all his might.
    He crows at nine 'n' ten, 'n' then eleven, twelve 'n' one,
    That banta hasn't sense enough to know when he is done.

    'N' he struts around, our banta does, in daytime just as proud,
    'N' when the other roosters crow, he tries to crow as loud,
    'N' acts just like a little kid 'ith his first pair o' pants,
    Who thinks he could do any work if he jes' had a chance,
    Pa. says thet banta rooster is jes' like some man he knows,
    Who works hard for a little bit, then stands around 'n' blows.

    But then I like him, I do, fer he don't complain a bit,
    'N' when I feed the chicks, you bet he gets his share of it.
    'N' if the great big chickens try to crowd him he will fight,
    'N' the way he makes the feathers fly is jes' a perfect sight,
    It takes a lot o' fightin', but he usually has his way,
    'N' that's a whole lot more 'n' most the little folks can say.

  11. Not a Spring Chicken

    by Ed. Blair. I heard a "peeping" In an egg-case that I had just nailed up, and on opening; it I found a lttle white chicken half out of the shell. It looked eo odd in therewith the "fresh eggs" just received that day from the country that It caused the following:

    I am not a Spring chicken, I am not,
    And I haven't any mother, that is what!
    Just the bright July sun beaming,
    On the nest where I lay dreaming
    Was what caused me to be here, that's what!

    I was carried to the store one day
    After laying twenty days on the hay,
    In the hottest July weather,
    I and some more eggs together
    And was ready then to throw my shell away.

    And they put me in the case at the store,
    And they nailed the lid down solid as before,
    But instead of sleeping, sleeping,
    I began a peeping, peeping,
    And I raised a consternation in that store.

    "There's a chicken in that case, I declare"
    Said the grocer, "and I think it's right there
    In that very top-most layer,"
    And he looked and found me there,
    And now I'm no Spring chicken I declare!

  12. Cackle, Cackle, Plymouth Rocks

    by Ed. Blair

    Cackle, Cackle, Plymouth Rocks,
    Ye kin have the wagon box,
    'N' the smokehouse 'n' the barn
    Take 'em—we don't care a darn.

    Cackle here and cackle there,
    Lay yer eggs jes' anywhere,
    Every time ye lay an egg,
    Down the mortgage goes a peg.

    Cackle, cackle, all the day,
    Who kin find a better way
    Fer to get ahead again
    Than to cultivate the hen.

  13. The Hens

    by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

    The night was coming very fast;
    It reached the gate as I ran past.

    The pigeons had gone to the tower of the church
    And all the hens were on their perch,

    Up in the barn, and I thought I heard
    A piece of a little purring word.

    I stopped inside, waiting and staying,
    To try to hear what the hens were saying.

    They were asking something, that was plain,
    Asking it over and over again.

    One of them moved and turned around,
    Her feathers made a ruffled sound,

    A ruffled sound, like a bushful of birds,
    And she said her little asking words.

    She pushed her head close into her wing,
    But nothing answered anything.