by Ivan, 28 March 2011
There once was a young lad,
Who loved eating chicken,
But then one fine day.
He was gravely stricken.
A malady so strange,
No one had a clue,
He was allergic to chicken,
He didn’t know what to do!
He’d break out in rashes,
Sores all shiny and red,
His neck would swell up,
And would be forced to bed.
He could do nothing,
His doctors were speechless,
They couldn’t find a cure,
So they felt pretty useless.
For never had they seen,
An allergy so rare,
TO be unable to touch meat,
It was more than he could bear.
So they suggested a cure,
That few would recommend,
They sent him to the Witch!
That lived on the bend.
The lad wished he could once more,
taste his mother’s chicken pie,
So he decided at once not to tarry,
And go give the witch a try.
The witch welcomed him in a flurry,
She gave him a crooked toothed smile,
She listened to the lad’s sad story,
Then she sat down to think for a while.
The lad came out all laughing!
He’d found out what had been faulty,
The answer was simple all this while,
After all it was just poultry.
The witch had told him this,
A quite strange yet simple thing,
He’d have to stand on his head during sunrise,
And with his best voice, he must sing.
So he’d get up every early morning,
He’d stand on his head then sing,
Then for the whole day straight after,
He could have drumsticks, thighs, breasts and wings.
So he everyday he sang the sun’s rising,
And ate his fill of white meat,
Chicken pies, sausages and burgers,
Fried, baked, it tasted so sweet.
But one day he woke up and decided,
His curse must be truly and gone,
So he decided to stop singing,
He was unaware of what he’d just done.
What the witch neglected to say was this,
That if he’d forgetten his black deal,
He’d be breaking his bond with great power,
And then his fate he would seal.
He turned into a big red rooster,
He got what he wanted in the end,
His allergies to chicken were gone,
Never to plague him ever again.
So up til today,
It was all he could do,
But wake up bright and early,
And sing Cock-a-doodle Doo.