Seven Saturday
john clare
It was one of those seven
Leaf piles kind of days
One where the dawn grits
Just didn't stick
The hen, she too was reluctant
To leave the roost
The dogs languished in the foyer
Feigning an infestation of ticks
Hoping to elicit sympathy
Not to be turned out
To face the seven Saturday.
Despite the groaning to get going
Before we knew, the seven piles were blazing
The hen, she was cackling and laying
The dogs, they forgot their imaginary ticks
And began treeing and impressing with their
squirrel chasing prowess.
And to Sir Top 'em hat
Up drove a little wonder boy
As we gathered the egg
Picked the fatted tick
And Stoked the Seven Fires
On the Seven Saturday.
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