Whene’er I feed the barnyard folk <br />My gentle soul is vexed; <br />My sensibilities are torn <br />And I am sore perplexed. <br /> <br />The rooster so politely stands <br />While waiting for his food, <br />But when I feed him, what a change! <br />He then is rough and rude. <br /> <br />He crowds his gentle wives aside <br />Or pecks them on the head; <br />Sometimes I think it would be best <br />If he were never fed. <br /> <br />And so I often stand for hours <br />Deciding which is right— <br />To impolitely have enough, <br />Or starve and be polite.<br /><br />Ellis Parker Butler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-question-32/
