Roger E Temple
Hatching
- Aug 21, 2021
- 1
- 13
- 9
My daughter has been raising chickens for three years and they have become the center of her life. I wrote a poem for her for her birthday in July. Here it is:
The Lady of the flashlight,
She comes here every day.
She steals our little babies
And carries our hopes away.
We try our best to hide the babes,
To keep them for ourselves.
We lay them in the corners,
Under boxes, up on shelves.
Concealing them is important,
So they get a chance to grow.
Some will become layers.
The rest will learn to crow.
We never get to keep the eggs
Long enough for them to hatch.
So every day we work like hell
And make a whole new batch.
What happens to our precious eggs
Over which we’ve fretted and we’ve toiled?
Fried, poached, sunny-side-up
Or maybe just hard-boiled.
Such are the lives of us chickens.
I guess that’s just our lot.
We bust our butts to lay the eggs,
Then WE end up in the pot!
THE HEN’S POV
By Roger E. Temple- 071421
This poem is dedicated to my daughter, Victoria.
By Roger E. Temple- 071421
This poem is dedicated to my daughter, Victoria.
The Lady of the flashlight,
She comes here every day.
She steals our little babies
And carries our hopes away.
We try our best to hide the babes,
To keep them for ourselves.
We lay them in the corners,
Under boxes, up on shelves.
Concealing them is important,
So they get a chance to grow.
Some will become layers.
The rest will learn to crow.
We never get to keep the eggs
Long enough for them to hatch.
So every day we work like hell
And make a whole new batch.
What happens to our precious eggs
Over which we’ve fretted and we’ve toiled?
Fried, poached, sunny-side-up
Or maybe just hard-boiled.
Such are the lives of us chickens.
I guess that’s just our lot.
We bust our butts to lay the eggs,
Then WE end up in the pot!