The Rooster

by JOHN HAY

OH Cockalorum, pure red man,
Nobody’s pet, yelling as clear
As autumn leaves the light herds in
To flaming yards, when is the year
Of doomsday’s ball of fire?
Where on earth has heaven been?
We were waiting for the choir.
You saw which way the sunrise blew;
You belled it in, and in, and in —
“Cock-a-doodle-doo! No time for you!”