Life, poetry, society

You Chickens Are Equally Crowned

A scraggy little hen
Has her wattles in a flap
Her crown distinctly tilted
With eyes focused nowhere
Her nostrils full of grit
And she can’t find the water

So in the earth she scratches
She digs, she sneezes, she squawks
Scratching the ground beneath her
With more messy scars
Cluck cluck bwark, she gives up
And heads home to roost

There’s other hens in turmoil
Scratching, looking, ruffling feathers
All equally confused
All equally scraggy
So the hen with wattles flapping
Flicks her crown top centre

The cockerel begins to crow
Sunset in thirty, get to bed yo!
The ruffled feathers all line up
Upon their same perch
Inside their one roof
And all equally crowned

I’ve got a soul that cannot sleep
At night when something just ain’t right

Β© Copyright: Sharon Lawsonβ„’

5 thoughts on “You Chickens Are Equally Crowned”

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