Schuster woke up very early
And quite quietly he crept
From his roost there in the henhouse,
While the chickens soundly slept.
The barnyard was bathed in darkness,
And it took his breath away
As he searched the star-swept sky
For that very first sunray.
As the seconds slowly ticked by
His anticipation grew,
To greet the morning and the farm
With a cock-a-doodle-doo.
He was a crowing virtuoso –
The best you’ve ever heard.
And even in the moonlight
He was such a handsome bird.
His feathers fountained colorfully
Against a base of cinnabar.
His comb took a dashing angle
Like a rooster gone rock star.
When the time came for the sunrise
(He had checked the almanac),
He filled his lungs with one great breath
– He was holding nothing back.
And as light reached the horizon
He crowed his wake up call…
Or at least he tried, for to his surprise
He made no sound at all.
He tried again – and harder.
A bigger breath he drew!
But he couldn’t even eek out
The slightest “doodle-doo.”
Repeatedly he tried to crow,
– Panic was all he produced.
With heavy heart and head hung low,
He retreated to his roost.
The commotion woke a hen up.
She nudged him with her beak.
“You forgot to crow this morning?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak.
But his mind, it raced with doubts,
And his head began to throb.
He put his heart into his work
But he had failed to do his job.
“I’m not enough,” he sadly thought,
“My days on the farm are done.
A rooster who has lost his crow
Is no use to anyone.”
Quietly he packed his things.
He didn’t know where he would go.
But he slipped out of the henhouse
With his small knapsack in tow.
The farm slept in that morning.
When the farmer made his round,
He stopped to check on Schuster
– Who was nowhere to be found.
The farmer searched the henhouse.
He checked the barn and stable.
He scanned the busy barnyard
Thoroughly as he was able.
He headed to the pasture,
Shaded by a grove of birch.
And others from across the farm
Joined the farmer in his search.
It wasn’t ‘till they reached the road
Trailing the natural spring,
That they spied the forlorn rooster
With a knapsack over his wing.
“Schuster!” called the farmer,
“Where in tarnation are you going?”
The rooster paused and faced the group,
His melancholy showing.
“We were worried,” said the farmer,
“We’ve been searching all around!”
His kindness choked up Schuster,
Who still couldn’t make a sound.
The farmer, forehead furrowed,
His mouth not quite a frown,
Said, “You missed your cue this morning,
So you think you let us down.”
“We appreciate your wake up call!
We count on it – that’s true.
But you’re valued for who you are,
Not just for what you do.”
The rooster looked up tearfully.
“Let’s get you back where you belong.”
As Schuster settled in the henhouse,
His heart beat loud and strong.
In days he got his voice back,
Along with his pride and charm.
And his well-loved “cock-a-doddle-do”
Rung out daily on the farm.
Sometimes when we doubt ourselves,
Thinking something’s wrong inside us,
It turns out to be as innocent
As a case of Laryngitis.
Fabletime 