little Brown
plain peahens step aside as the peacocks strut into the barnyard
they do a little mating dance, preening, showing off, being male
if I had those beautiful feathers, I would be jazzier than any of them!
The other peahens laugh at little brown, the youngest peahen.
We all talked like that at one time, an older peahen told her.
I used to beg father sky for some pretty feathers, but I did not get them.
Little Brown was not dissuaded,
she thought they had not tried hard enough.
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