The Unusual Goose And The Imbecilic Woodcutter

A woodcutter bought him a gander,     Or at least that was what he supposed,     As a matter of fact, 'twas a slander     As a later occurrence disclosed;     For they locked the bird up in the garret     To fatten, the while it grew old,     And it laid there a twenty-two carat     Fine egg of the purest of gold!     There was much unaffected rejoicing     In the home of the woodcutter then,     And his wife, her exuberance voicing,     Proclaimed him most lucky of men.     "'Tis an omen of fortune, this gold egg,"     She said, "and of practical use,     For this fowl doesn't lay any old egg,     She's a highly superior goose."     Twas this creature's habitual custom,     This laying of superfine eggs,     And they made it their practice to dust 'em     And pack them by dozens in kegs:     But the woodcutter's mind being vapid     And his foolishness more than profuse,     In order to get them more rapid     He slaughtered the innocent goose.     He made her a gruel of acid     Which she very obligingly ate,     And at once with a touchingly placid     Demeanor succumbed to her fate.     With affection that passed the platonic     They buried her under the moss,     And her epitaph wasn't ironic     In stating, "We mourn for our loss."     And THE MORAL: It isn't much use,     As the woodcutter found to be true,     To lay for an innocent goose     Just because she is laying for you.