4 Chickens: A Survival Story

It seemed to happen in a flash. Our movements were rash. Behind the breakfast bar With scraps of potato hash. Our webbed little feet Stuck in a muddy mash. Scores of us slip-slapping up the alley Unabashed, with feathers Mucked and thrashed Finally on the road and--boom! Crash! Linda was blindsided, Some trucker with a stash. There were eight of us now Headed for a small pond in Wabash. Just 200 waddles in the razor tall leaves That thrash and slash. Finally the four of us left see Beyond the man-sized vines The immaculate vision of the chicken party. The most bodacious aquatic bash: The one they call "The Chicken Splash."