I often thought about you
And your free range chickens
Being happy on the land
Living life free
Both pecking and scraping
Getting life from the dust
But I didn’t know
That it could never be enough
Tho’ scratch might make some happy
I found out too late
That it wouldn’t do for you
But if I could
Believe me true
I’d bring you chickens
Instead of flowers
To brighten up your room
Written for my 28 Yr. old niece on her deathbed, last year at this time. She never had much of a chance in life and her chickens were the only thing that gave her any peace. I am glad I wrote it, at least I got to see her smile.