Guineas
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They move, quick and sure,
In a line, they cross the road
Like short, grey gentlemen
The noise that protests
Screeching vigilantly, violently
Like a relentless cough
Echoes on the edges of fences
That edge the pastures
They savor the ticks and mosquitoes
Lingering a little at the puddle
Caused by a hard rain just yesterday
The candor that gives them
Almost a enchanted demeanor
Causes the turkeys and chickens to flush
Bright rose, like the musical feel
That appeals to the senses
Who listen quietly to their screaming
They hunt for nests in the woods
Searching forest floor for green grass
That will hold the hard shells of their babies
The miracle isn’t in the way they play
A melody of ear-piercing music
But in the way they seem to share
Their moments of wisdom
With fowl, both hen and turkey
Their prudence is more clever
Than they are aware of
They are speedy, wise birds
Who know their place on the farm
Fill the silence with shrieks of merriment
The guineas are both fast and full
Of musical laughter that color the fields
In pale gold with emerald edges
Softening the breath of those who know
These wise hens cast a shadow
Of pure peace with their charmed cries
They are the life of the farm
A piece of poetry on the grange
Welcoming guests to feel their grace
Copyright © Regina Mcintosh | Year Posted 2021
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