Aug 2015
Roaming through the twisted trunks
Of the jungle trees
High on the mist laden mountain,
Rustling in the undergrowth,
Searching for Life's bounty
In the dry, rusted dirt,
Chipping away at the mystery
Of your land,
Feral and free
Of the jungle trees
High on the mist laden mountain,
Rustling in the undergrowth,
Searching for Life's bounty
In the dry, rusted dirt,
Chipping away at the mystery
Of your land,
Feral and free
This poem is far too beautiful and thoughtful for the miserable wretches it describes. I recently visited Kaui, one of the infamous islands of Hawaii, and lo and behold, CHICKENS. There were friggin' chickens everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I nicknamed the feathery population The Great Mountain/Jungle Chickens of Kaui. My friend bet me I couldn't make some of the most disgusting birds in existence sound majestic, so I was obligated to write this poem.
