Working On a Chicken Farm

I pack eggs on a chicken farm. Their colours range from brown to white. Quite often in this line of work I see some funny sites! When walking through the hen house I see a yellow forest of legs. The foliage of which is red and brown And like rocky mounds are the eggs. The hens, they fascinate me. They make many different sounds. Some are gentle, contented, Others, sharp and loud. Their eyes are orange beads. Many thousands blink my way. When I reach out to pet them They duck, hop, run away! But most humorous of all Is when two scrap for order; They peck, they puff their chest And stretch their necks to look taller. When one yields, it screeches Then hurries off in another direction. When I see one hurt I want to scoop her up And offer her loving attention. Their movements bring on smiles, Slow stalk, heads bob back and forth. Some even balance on one leg Whilst deciding whether or not to walk! These beautiful girls are creatures of habit. They are inquisitive and like to follow. They are sensitive. They are free range. It's always sad to see them go.