Times got tough
food ran low,
that crazy, fat rooster
far too soon began to crow.
He sat on the fence
as if he'd lost his sense
crowing well before sun up -
so, I pulled my gun
and shot him in the gut.
Things are a bit better now
and the mornings are nice,
no noises in the dark
and there's fresh chicken on ice.
Smoky Hoss
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/problems-solved-2/
