When Sammy was just ten years old, his Dad gave him a chore, to gather up the chicken eggs. This job was grim, for sure.
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 down for supper, as most 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 his father’s words? They’d stung with such a bite. No sleep would come to Sammy’s bed throughout that lonely night.
The rooster crowed, then walked about. He strutted in the sand. Sammy marched up to the coop with baseball bat in hand.
He looked into the 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 such awful crust that filled up Sammy’s eye. Each swing was sent with real intent. Those feathers they did fly.
The cows were mooing, dogs were barking, chickens running free. The fight was done. Who really won, now clear for all to see.
While sitting down for supper as most 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.