Farm-wives are complaining bitterly in the press that the new Egg Board regulations, virtually banning the barndoor egg, have deprived them of a traditional source of income and forced them to go to niggardly husbands for pin-money.
Mum's bit of egg money on the mantelpiece In the broken teapot in the olden days, Hardly earned and hoarded there, Much content afforded there Long before inspectors came and bureaucratic ways. But science by the barn-door rules the farmer's lot And Mum's bit of egg-money dwindles in the pot. Ever since the first years this was mother's perquisite, Eggs daily gathered by the old barn door, From the stable gathered in, From the shed and fodder bin, Carted in and traded at the small town store; Gathered from the wayward hen laying far afield As the new-cleared acres gave their golden yield.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002-06|