what's to prove to hens
chickens clucking inanely
drumming, drumming drumming
so daft they call their legs drumsticks
unable to soar gliding the winds with grace
ground dwellers missioned to peck on dirt and crumbs
what matters chickens other than at end roasted dinner on a plate
born ignobly to peck dirt the dumb fettered cowards with edible drumsticks
penned in or 'free' ranging all they do is clucking and clacking inanely
never will adorn like birds of paradise
never to sing like the gifted nightingales
never to flair in beauty and grace like peacocks
never to soar high in majestic livery and splendour as eagles
only to coo huddle and clucking pecking dirt on ground level nought
someone's dinner someone's fried drumstick someone's peppered wings
some day soon....