The chicken nurd
Songster
- Apr 4, 2021
- 544
- 911
- 221
A poem to my chickens
I love my chickens it's true and many say they understand but I'm not sure they do
how many chickens do you have I ask and they say just 1 or 2 and they ask how many I have and I say feels like 200 but maybe just 22 but chickens seem to multiply every time you avert your eyes so what's the point in counting when 2 more appear each blink of your eye what's the point in counting when you always have two more and we don't count the ducks or turkeys that live next door
Far too many chickens I say and they laugh we move on but all I want to do is carry on and tell them all the perfect things my chickens do even when its something silly they wouldn’t understand because alas they are normal and do not forever have clouds of feathers floating in there heads
Perhaps it was a curse I was given when I first held a baby chick perhaps a curse to forever have more chicks and perhaps just perhaps a goose one day or a peacock or a partridge too the list could go on all day
But when I held that first little chick so perfect and so small I believed I'd be a normal person not someone with chickens in my hall not someone with a chicken hidden next to my bedroom door
And in my kitchen chickens squawking every time the fridge door opens
And tripping on them forever more on my way to bed and alas waking up with chickens perched upon my head
What am I to do with all my chickens I cry and look around and see the feathers piled high so high perhaps the floor was simply never there just chicken feathers as deep as i can dig
And bags of feed i place as tables around my house balancing chickens on them the way a normal person would do with books and wonder where did all the book space go but then a chicken lays an egg and I quickly lose my train of thoughts as the cacophony of noise rings out about my house
And I sit and drink a cup of coffee that my chickens kindly share and I wonder if perhaps I was a normal person who did not love my chickens so and wish just maybe that there were fewer chickens waiting at my door and in my yard and in the world beyond
but alas I love my chickens and will forever more and I do not only say this and promise this is true because there is a chicken watching me write this poem and judging if I say things that are not true
But with all this being said and more I love my chickens forever and forever more and perhaps just maybe I could add 1 more
I love my chickens it's true and many say they understand but I'm not sure they do
how many chickens do you have I ask and they say just 1 or 2 and they ask how many I have and I say feels like 200 but maybe just 22 but chickens seem to multiply every time you avert your eyes so what's the point in counting when 2 more appear each blink of your eye what's the point in counting when you always have two more and we don't count the ducks or turkeys that live next door
Far too many chickens I say and they laugh we move on but all I want to do is carry on and tell them all the perfect things my chickens do even when its something silly they wouldn’t understand because alas they are normal and do not forever have clouds of feathers floating in there heads
Perhaps it was a curse I was given when I first held a baby chick perhaps a curse to forever have more chicks and perhaps just perhaps a goose one day or a peacock or a partridge too the list could go on all day
But when I held that first little chick so perfect and so small I believed I'd be a normal person not someone with chickens in my hall not someone with a chicken hidden next to my bedroom door
And in my kitchen chickens squawking every time the fridge door opens
And tripping on them forever more on my way to bed and alas waking up with chickens perched upon my head
What am I to do with all my chickens I cry and look around and see the feathers piled high so high perhaps the floor was simply never there just chicken feathers as deep as i can dig
And bags of feed i place as tables around my house balancing chickens on them the way a normal person would do with books and wonder where did all the book space go but then a chicken lays an egg and I quickly lose my train of thoughts as the cacophony of noise rings out about my house
And I sit and drink a cup of coffee that my chickens kindly share and I wonder if perhaps I was a normal person who did not love my chickens so and wish just maybe that there were fewer chickens waiting at my door and in my yard and in the world beyond
but alas I love my chickens and will forever more and I do not only say this and promise this is true because there is a chicken watching me write this poem and judging if I say things that are not true
But with all this being said and more I love my chickens forever and forever more and perhaps just maybe I could add 1 more
