The cockerel was burnished brown and gold
Was plump with pride and unconcealed rage.
Each morning when the dawn flushed the sky of darkness
He would sound a battle cry,
A raucous crowing that could shatter a window at 15 paces.
Then at 7am the farmers wife would encroach on his kingdom,
Lift the flap to his castle, and he emerged,
Red faced and crimson combed, strutting a domination,
Like an old major in the far flung days of empire.
And as the farmer's wife scattered corn, he preened his feathers,
Stood and watched with a malevolent stare,
Then, propelled by arrogance and rage, he flew at her,
Wicked beak finding the ample flesh at the back of her leg,
And she in turn swotted him away with well aimed nonchalance.
She chased them to the edge of his kingdom
Where he stood and crowed and crowed and crowed again
Until I was sure the sky would shatter.
Then with one final crow of defience he turned to his ladies
And each in turn were shown the colour of his dominence.
He retired then to the shade of an apple tree,
Plump again with arrogance and pride restored.
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