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.
Copyright © Natasha L Scragg | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment