Poultry Problems Poem by jim smith

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