The banty rooster puffs his chest
in silk tweed suit or feathered breast,
declaring he’s the very best
to anyone who’ll hear him.
In barnyard or in boardroom, he
proclaims superiority
and clucks and crows incessantly
that others should revere him.
He struts and flaps his wings a bit
to compensate for lack of wit
and stirs up dust and chicken shit;
the smell still lingers near him.
pay velvet sack a visit.
About Me
- patsy
- born in arkansas, lived here all my life, 75 years old. keep chickens and I like to read.
2 comments:
I know some of these guys,
Velvet!
Glad you liked the poem, Patsy. And Sweet Sister, there are a lot of 'em around, aren't there?
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