Hens Nest

Among the orchard weeds, from every search,

Snugly and sure, the old hen’s nest is made,

Who cackles every morning from her

To tell the servant girl new eggs are laid;

Who lays her washing by, and far and

Goes seeking all about from day to day,

And stung with nettles tramples everywhere;

But still the cackling pullet lays away.

The boy on Sundays goes the stack to

In hopes to find her there, but naught is seen,

And takes his hat and thinks to find it full,

She’s laid so long so many might have been.

But naught is found and all is given

Till the young brood come chirping to the door.