My love looked up with dewy eyes
There's something missing in my life
Midst tears and mournful cries
I yearn for those things lost with my tears
Gone like ghosts
These many years
Just tell me what it is said I
I'll make it right
Don't fret, don't cry
No, it's too much
Poppycock can't be
I'll not hear of such
Chickens!
Chickens?
Chickens.
And thus began the chicken run
First the critters
Not bad, it could be fun
And now the feed in bags of fifty
Sawdust, boxes, wire
The money's going swiftly
The little suckers all escape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this too jim. Love the change of pace you contrived at the point of revelation! . Entertaining and well written. You have real talent sir. Stick with it. Best to you, jim