A Fowl Poem

... A more fowl creature I have yet to meet ...

While tis prudent to live one’s life sensibly, it can also be a snore. One must leave room for moments of lunacy lest sanity run afoul with boredom.

Herewith a flight of fancy regarding one such moment and my seemingly irrational fear (or so I’ve been told) of poultry.

It was penned during a most unfortunate period when the feathered squawkers temporarily co-habited my barn while their poultry palace was thus under construction.

Of a certainty this is a fair representation of foul fowl poetry — a rare and dangerous application of the English language, indeed.


A Fowl Poem

Oh dear, they’re

Back. How can it

Be? They must be

Here to torture

Me! What did I do

To draw such

Fate? Why aren’t

Those chickens on a

Plate instead of

In the barn …

Forsooth, with every

Squawk I lose my

Youth! Remove them

For I cannot

Bear to think

That they are over

There. Too close

For comfort, to be

Sure, it’s terror

I just won’t

Endure. I’m on

Alert; my head

Held high, my

Body quakes,

What if I

Die because

Some poultry

Got away? I’m

Wont to faint

Upon my hay.

So, I implore

Remove them

Hence before

I lose all

Common sense.


Clearly it had already flown the coop …

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock … it remaineth my sincere hope …

Unflappably yours,

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

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