When I was a little girl about five
We bought baby chickens so small
Kept them warm by the wood stove
We could hardly hear them at all.
Just sweet little peeping sounds
I loved to sit on the floor by them
Cuddled up together they were
Each one was a golden gem.
But they grew very fast it seemed
When the warm weather was here
They had to go to the chicken house
Then I had a bit of a nagging fear.
For something could happen to them
So I would sit there quiet as a mouse
Oh, how memories pop up sometimes
Of my visits long at the chicken house.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cute poem and cute picture. We used to have trouble with weasels getting into the chicken house. (And foxes, too.)
Thank you for your comment, so glad you enjoyed my poem. Chickens can get into trouble!