As I walked to the chicken house,

I heard a dreadful sound,

my cock was croaking horribly,

alas, with difficulty he breathed.

That afternoon, I tried with every means,

to give him strength by feeding him,

he would not eat but a few beans,

and his chocking always assailed me.

Some medicine at last was found,

yet he would not drink the liquid,

so we did squirt it in his beak,

hoping that it would do him good.

Now comes the night which will decide,

whether the cock will live or die,

should he last until dawn,

a new hope will then be found.

O, what fear I endure,

all along that dark, dark, night,

o, what anguish tortures me,

as I worry over his plight.

Now at last morning is come,

hope and fear are renewed,

and as I leave the house,

the unknown is before me.

I go right to his roosting place,

dreading and hoping too,

but then I see him on the ground,

rigid, his legs in the air.

So death took him in the night,

right out of this world,

and now his body doth remain,

still magnificent in death.

We took him over to a hole,

dug a long, long time ago,

and gently laid him there,

to bury his body.

A first handful of dust came down,

then another, then a third,

a few more, then with hoes,

we covered him with earth.

When he was fully buried,

some bricks we piled on,

and decorated his tomb,

with leaves and bark of tree.

His grave stands in a compound,

his name inscribed on it,

father to be before he left,

"Duke" was his name.

February 2020