Attic Poems: Deadbirdie's Poem.

This is part of the short series called Attic Poems. They are the poems of the best chickens that died. I found the poems in my attic.

I had a rooster,

he had a weird name.

His name was Deadbirdie,

not something lame.

His name was Deadbirdie 'cause,

when he was small,

he would lay on his back,

 and not move at all.

When he was little

he was black and white.

He would stand on tip toes

and screech with all his might.

When he was older

he ate quite a lot.

He fluffed in the cold,

he panted in the hot.

Deadbirdie was such

a big chunky lug.

When ever I saw him

I gave him a hug.
Every day he cheeped
and stood up tall.
Deadbirdie was sweet
and loved by all.

 

Deadbirdie the chick.