Spring Chicks
Easter egg hunts are proof your child can find things when they really want to. —Unknown
Peep, peep, peep, peeping, chirping, tweeting, peeping
cheeping wildly, declaring they aren’t sleeping
tiny cracks in shells, sure they’re alive and well,
each fluffy chick comes out in a soft pastel.
Peep, peep, peep, tweeting vigorously, quickly
so we are certain they’re quite strong, not sickly
searching for those bugs and worms, where is their mum?
ravenous, they’re sure to eat up every crumb!
Peep, peep, peep, cheeping so the whole world will know,
it won’t be long before their feathers will grow,
and, they’ll be pecking away in the barn’s stalls,
peeping at the farmer in his overalls.
Peep, peep, peep, singing until their heart’s content,
thinking they might be some child’s Easter present,
fragile wings guide them over the hay and dust,
reminding, in time, to farm life, they’ll adjust.
Peep, peep, peep, chirruping like they’ll never stop,
fluttering round the pigs who’re eating their slop,
trying to coax the cows to give them a drink,
darting in cow patties even though they stink.
Peep, peep, peep, squeaking merrily, their brisk songs,
poking creepy-crawlies, like their beak belongs,
never once forgetting secrets their mum taught,
the mysteries of a world where they knew nought.
Peep, peep, peep, peeping, chirping, tweeting, peeping,
wise as skies, where their gentle hearts are keeping,
panicking inside when the cat comes sneaking,
soothing chicks who know mother hen is peaking!
Copyright ©
Regina Mcintosh
|