The Little Wet Hen
In times way back when
There was a little wet hen
Who panicked over matters quite small.
For the littlest of things
She’d flap her wet wings
And cry that the sky would soon fall.
At first folk took heed
Of the doom she decreed
But nothing was as bad as she said.
So, as time showed her liable
To be quite unreliable,
Few cared for the squawkings she spread.
This did nothing to reduce
The dire warnings she’d produce—
To stop now would mean losing of face.
So she continued her addiction
To calamitous predictions
But, for the record, the sky stayed in place.
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013
Some of you may recognise this chook,
The rest of you can consider yourself lucky.