Listen, my children, and you shall know,
Of something that happened a long time ago.
I was a lad, not as big as you, 
And the youngest of the children, too. 
And I laugh even yet, as I think it o'er,
And the more I think, I laugh the more.

'Twas a chilly eve of an autumn's day, 
We were all in the kitchen, merry and gay, 
And the fire burnt bright in the old brick hearth, 
And its chilly flame added zest to our mirth. 

My eldest sister, addressing me,
"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, you know," said she.
"We must kill the chickens tonight, you see, 
So light the lantern and come with me. 
We'll wring their necks till they are dead, 
And have them all dressed 'ere we go to bed."

So the huge old lantern made out of tin, 
Punched full of holes, with a candle within, 
Put in its appearance in a shorter time 
Than it takes to tell this jingling rhyme.

We started out, on the way I led, 
For a raid on the chickens under the shed, 
And there, a pile of roots filled an open space, 
Thus making an excellent roosting place, 
Where we found a bunch of domestic fowls, 
Sitting there perched as demure as owls.

My sister, unused to the sight of blood 
Pale with excitement, trembling stood. 
But summoning courage, quickly laid her plans, 
And seized the old rooster with both her hands.
 
She wrung and wrung with might and main. 
She wrung and twisted and wrung again. 
And when sure that the spark of life had fled 
Threw him down on the ground for dead.

But the old rooster would not consent to die, 
And thus be made into chicken pie. 
He sprang away with a cackle and bound, 
Almost as soon as he touched the ground. 
And hiding away from the lantern's light, 
Escaped the slaughter of that dark night.

My sister was brought to a sudden stand, 
For looking down at what she held in her hand 
Soon saw why the rooster was not dead. 
She'd wrung off his tail instead of his head!!

WALTER SCOTT ALGEO
(My  dad's father -- Bob)