Monday, November 23, 2020

the hen

 

Called you.

Talked about your friend,  a hen.

Three years old, this friend!

You worried when

you saw her stumble 

and the pet peacock, close,

began pecking at her eyes

(surprised at such cruelty).

You rescued her, unharmed,

made a hay bed in the barn,

where she lay all night.

She died.

You cried.

After our talk,

you'll bury her.