The speaker admires a parade of plump, contented hens, carried along by thin, underfed ranch hands. At first the tone is cheerful and teasing. The hens look prettier than ever, and the speaker guesses why: maybe it's the farm brand on their necks, or their happy clucking that turns into song. Those songs are about doing nothing "well, and often," about where they went to school rather than what they learned, and about what they'll eat today and tomorrow. The hens sound a lot like people who coast on status and comfort.
The poem seems to poke fun at privilege, with the well-fed hens set against the hungry workers who carry them. Then the last two lines turn sharply. The speaker hopes the hens will look and sound just as pretty "when they are roasting on a spit." The mood shifts from light mockery to dark, biting humor, suggesting that all that carefree show ends up as dinner. The title, "La Ghiottona," which means a female glutton in Italian, fits their greedy ease.