© Mick Martin

The one thirty rooster has broken his clock
He starts every morning, the farmer to mock
He takes a huge breath then he huffs and he blows
He wakes up the guard dog which adds to their woes

He runs out of puff in an hour so
But just as the farmer to slumber might go
He bursts into action, he’d near raise the dead
The king of the hen house, the lord of his shed

The one thirty rooster is flirting with fate
An axe sharp and ready is leaned by his gate
His nocturnal singing won’t help those who sleep
By day he is snoozing and won’t make a peep

The hens are all pining for roosters are good
To mate with the hens in a way that they should
For eggs are ok but they’re breeding no young
A one thirty rooster won’t get the job done

An imported rooster from country afar
In Europe this rooster might act like a star
But here in this country he’s useless as mud
The one thirty rooster is simply a dud

But Christmas is coming he really must try
To wait till the sun almost shows in the sky
For gravy and roosters would make a good mix
If soon he’s not working and hens produce chicks

The one thirty rooster has started to mate!
The chicks in the hundreds all wait by the gate
They’ve come from the neighbours the word must out
There’s fertilised eggs in the nests all about

The one thirty rooster is tired now and sleeps
From sundown till morning no sound, not a peep
The menu for Christmas show roosters in luck
Its veggies and gravy with Muscovy duck!

Dedicated to The Kenilworth rooster who is probably still crowing from 1-30 am