When Sammy was just ten years old, his Dad gave him a task, to gather up the chicken eggs. This chore he did not mask.
You see there was a rooster who was guard of every hen. He strutted round the chicken fence. For sure this was his pen.
Small Sammy met him at the gate with bucket in his hand. The rooster ready for a fight to guard his sacred land.
Now Sammy was a gentle soul, he wouldn’t hurt a flea. Would that rooster harm a little boy, so precious and so wee?
While sitting at the dinner table, as families did back then. The Father noticed Sammy’s face was scratched while in that den.
Well Father said to Son that night,”I see you turned and ran. Tomorrow is another day. Stand tall and be a man.”
Would Sammy heed the words he heard, from Father, with a bite. No sleep would come to Sammy’s bed throughout that lonely night.
The rooster crowed then walked about strutting in the sand. Now Sammy walking to that coop with baseball bat in hand.
He looked into that rooster’s eye. The devil looked right back. The boy could see his plight to be with fear he did not lack.
It was dirt to dust that awful crust filling Sammy’s eye. Each swing was sent with real intent, those feathers they did fly.
The cows were mooing, dogs were barking, chickens on the scare. The fight was done, who really won, now clearing up the air.
While sitting at the dinner table, as families did back then. The boy informed the hungry lot his name was just plain “Sam.”
For on that day, a boy turned man, what else was he to do. His catch was fair, now they would share that famous rooster stew.