Seven iced-over winters followed
by sweet bugs on long summer days.
Flightless old girls with twisted
toenails and dim eyes, each year
their webbed feet turn a bit more
inward, carrying the weight of their
front-heavy bodies. Was it a plan?
The hens began to answer the barking
terrier, marching wing to wing and
four abreast, heads tucked to the
left, bills dropped low, and on each,
a single eye glaring straight, baiting
the dog with a righteous chorus, fences
give courage to a time-honored battle. One
morning, necks at broken angles, perhaps
they won the day. Old bones rest free. Not
many feathers, not much fight. Maybe a
weasel or a house dog, blame doesn’t matter
now. Just to acknowledge their small lives,
as families of goslings appear on the pond.
Endless creativity, another original, beautiful!!
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Big smile to you. Thanks, Dr Penny.
Beautiful tribute and acknowledgment of life.
Sent from my iPhone Deb
>
Thank you.
a sigh and a tear …
Not a bad thing to live a good long life… thanks, Ellen
Agree with Ellen: a wonderful tribute to these girls…
Crying. You write so evocatively.
Thanks, they had a wonderful life here.
Many an old person would ask for a like finale.
Amen.