My daughter accused me of not loving my chickens as much as I had in the past....simply because I was ranting about them digging up my Fall plantings of daffodils. And so, in response, I waxed poetic....albeit tongue-in-cheek:
The tiny flight/hop of the chicken bespeaks of its blithe spirit that yearns to soar.
O chicken sweet, dip your curved beak into the golden coffers of love,
And sway in rhythm to the gentle breeze caressing your sun-kissed feathers.
Gaelio
The tiny flight/hop of the chicken bespeaks of its blithe spirit that yearns to soar.
O chicken sweet, dip your curved beak into the golden coffers of love,
And sway in rhythm to the gentle breeze caressing your sun-kissed feathers.
Gaelio
