In the back-alleys o’ the Baker’s house, past the boatyard in Balley Streets,
the town’s only iron-boy sang farewell to the town’s only creaky-feet.
Since Chicken Feet was but a rusty coupling, those lanky chatterboxes
have stirred up whispers, whines, and more than their fair share of problems.
They leaked such an unbearable racket, the sea-folk of the Balley Streets
dubbed dear, unfinished Chicken Feet—the carrier of creaks
For he did. Everywhere he went.
But on that foggy morning, the iron lad stumbled ‘pon a touch of fortune.
A magic-man—an honest fellow by Chicken’s careful estimation
Wandered ‘to the Balley Streets. And, boy, did he have jus’ the thing!
From out his bag o’ opportunity, a pair o’ human feet would spring!
Snapping up those lanky lookers for all the coins in his pockets,
Chicken rushed to empty those noisy devils from his sockets.
At last! At last! Daydreams bounced around Chicken’s iron bean.
The carrier of creaks would finally have his handsome feet!
Though dressing in those fondest forelegs would prove quite a twister.
Joints fell loose. Buckles stuck. Casings cracked between his fingers.
He forced-n-frowned, frowned-n-forced, until his lookers had enough.
The patient pair had played their part, but Chicken’s madness grew too much.
Thus, the handsome human feet leapt on their softest soles.
They danced past Chicken’s grabbing hands and skipped right out the door.
Surely, there’s still time! Chicken shouted with-all his heart,
for the blindest hope was pumping steady through his iron parts
His future ‘scaping by the minute, he reached down to the floor,
pawing for those squawking crutches he wore so thoughtlessly before.
But the walking, talking migraines were nowhere to be found.
Somewhere ‘long the way, the creaks had tottered outside on their own.
Too legless for the chase. Too legless now to stand.
From that day forth, Chicken Feet carries creaks on his hands.
Out with the new. In with the old.
Fate does not always favor the bold.