Left alone to peck the last grain,
From the hard icy ground,
There would be no christmas for him,
Every year it was the same,
He would wait and wait,
Until at last the farmer came out,
To choose the ones who would,
Have a wonderful christmas,
With Quackers and Turkeys Delight,
They will gather round the warm table,
Enjoying the festivities,
While he outside would sit depressed,
And watch the lights,
And hear the laughter,
Through the window,
Ow wher his friends having a good time,
And every year they had such a good time,
That they didn't come back to poor chicken,
And he wished all year,
That next christmas,
He would be choosen for the party,
But every year,
He was not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nick, this is a wonderful poem, written in simple and lucid style. It brings out the irony and pathos of a chicken that is missing on 'the fun' that many other chickens must have had at the last year's Christmas. You are an excellent poet.