The Broody Hen
The dull day dashed quietly,
On track of bursting seconds,
When I met a sad broody hen,
In bizarre twist, she seemed anxious.
Alarmed; I stretched near swiftly,
Her growls stirred my soft pulse,
When two hawks briskly took off; then,
A brood; blacks, browns, rose from grass.
In despair, they chirped sharply,
She surged, sighed, resumed her chores,
At once, she saw several; missed one,
And fled the hostile field in disgrace.
At all she cursed the twins, fiercely,
For they, it's just but dusk snacks,
Rare in such a savannah, so stubborn,
A prey ceased even before a torn slice.
A fair fortune in absurd fragility,
How foul to dare steal her success,
The chicks too naive; but not inane,
To think it's better in the safety of shells.
My shaky waves saved the family,
Joyfully I leave; but still her loss,
Now an equivocal tie; who's to gain,
The grassland weaves its lowly issues.
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