My Comb

I am on holidays at the farm when I hear the rooster crow. The rooster is such a handsome boy. He has a fancy red comb. It suits him. It is like a crown.

He seems so proud of his fancy comb crown. I ask him if I can have a crown too. He preens his colorful feathers. 'I can't give you my crown,' the rooster says.

Next, I see the posing peacock. He fans out his glorious tail feathers in one fluid movement. And I see that he has a wonderful feather crown too.

I ask him where he got his lovely crown. 'I was born with it,' comes the peacocks quick reply.

This farm is a sanctuary for many types of birds. There are roosters, peacocks, and now I meet a water bird, a heron. She also has a fancy comb.

She will not part with her crown of feathers either. It seems I am not to have a comb crown today.

'Enough! You can all keep your combs of feathers. I don't need yours.'

I was not born with feathers. But I can make a comb crown that is just right for me. Give me some scissors, and watch me go.