They comment as they watch me weed
and as I go, they start to plead
for freedom from their boring pen
restrictive to a busy hen.
Now free, they root, scratch and dig
As efficient as any pig
Rustling through every flower
I watch to while away the hours
Later, the washing that I carry
Commands attention, so they tarry
Weaving about by my feet
Hoping it’s something they can eat
Finally it is time to end their roam
I need to get these chickens home
A line of treats upon the grass
Leads them back to the pen at last.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Poet's Corner 