I tossed a chicken from the wall
And watched her flap to break her fall;
She landed and looked up to say
Now child, go somewhere else to play.
I took another to the top
And like a stone I let her drop;
Bright crimson comb, a blur of white,
And like the other, landed quite.
I threw a third as if to prove
They could not fly quite like a dove;
In cackled curt cacophony,
She landed proud for all to see.
A pantomime of feathered mirth,
Yet to a child some thoughts of worth;
Better weak wings to break one’s fall,
Than flapping arms from off the wall.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.