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The vicious wind – it roared and howled

     And beat upon our door,

Whilst father went off to his bed

     And soon we heard him snore.

 

The ceaseless rain, it poured and poured

      And beat down on the pane.

Through the night both wind and rain

     Continued yet again.

 

A farmer woke: he heard a noise 

     But blamed it on the weather.

Next day he went to feed his hens,

     But discovered only feathers.

 

The hen-house door had blown away.

     ‘Oh blast this wind and rain!’ –

But when he sought to find his hens,

     The reason was quite plain - - -

 

The wind and rain were not to blame

     For the death of every one:

It was Mr Fox who, in the night,

    Had enjoyed his night of fun.

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