CHICKENS 
Our mother lives in a wooden hutch : 
We wonder she should stay there 
When we enjoy the mead so much 
By running out to play there. 
Perhaps she cannot join our game 
Because the bars won’t let her ; 
So we play on, and (to our shame) 
Until she clucks, forget her. 
The Mother Hen with her brood of downy 
Chicks is a pleasant sight. How anxiously she 
guards them, and how tenderly she will gather them 
under her wings at the least sign of danger ! 
Could one of her family be able to tell us his 
history, he would most likely begin by recalling the 
days when he was a close prisoner in a tiny shell. 
Before long, however, he gets a wider view of the 
world, for as soon as he is strong enough he 
promptly chips his way out. This is no easy task, 
and he seems exhausted for several hours after, while 
his down is quite wet. His mother, however, shelters 
him, and all his brothers and sisters, under her soft, 
F 8l 
