BORROWED FEATHERS

Many good, attractive people spoil the merits they have by trying to be something bigger or showier. It is always best to be one's self.

A rooster one morning was preening his feathers That glistened so bright in the sun; He admired the tints of the various colors As he laid them in place one by one. Now as roosters go he was a fine bird, And he should have been satisfied; But suddenly there as he marched along, Some peacock feathers he spied. They had beautiful spots and their colors were gay— He wished that his own could be green; He dropped his tail, tried to hide it away; Was completely ashamed to be seen.

Then his foolish mind hatched up a scheme— A peacock yet he could be; So he hopped behind a bush to undress Where the other fowls could not see. He caught his own tail between his bill, And pulled every feather out; And into the holes stuck the peacock plumes; Then proudly strutted about. The other fowls rushed to see the queer sight; And the peacocks came when they heard; They could not agree just what he was, But pronounced him a funny bird.

Then the chickens were angry that one of their kind Should try to be a peacock; And the peacocks were mad that one with their tail Should belong to a common fowl flock. So the chickens beset him most cruelly behind, And yanked his whole tail out together; The peacocks attacked him madly before, And pulled out each chicken feather. And when he stood stripped clean down to the skin, A horrible thing to the rest, He learned this sad lesson when it was too late— As his own simple self he was best.

Joseph Morris.