The pecking order's tough.
The going's sometimes rough
And at times
I can hardly see my way through.
I'm told to get real
I always thought that was the deal
Until it's me
Beginning to feel.
So the chicken makes a run
Away from the shun
To the world she knows so well.
It's a living hell
At times -
Stoicism and the like -
More's the pity really,
Cos the only thing
I know how to do
Is to give
Without strings
Without reason
Just to be.
But it's nothing but chicken shit out there,
The lucky ones find their roost
The others just seem to flap around
On the edge of that high, high ground.
Kym Matthews, 1995.
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1 comment:
Ah, is that the mother talking, sounds like it. But then there is no mother I know who is a chicken, though many a mum would like to scoot the coop when the going gets rough. That can't be true, for as the poem says... Stoicism and the like...is there the hold them back and make them keep on giving.
A neat little poem Kym, looking forward to more come february 7th.
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