Feathered Verses: The Poetry of Chickens

In barnyard realms where sunbeams play,

Feathers dance in the light of day.

A poetry of clucks, a rhythmic rhyme,

In the world of chickens, a tale of prime.

Feathered poets in a coop so wide,

Their tales told with wings spread wide.

Eggshell sonnets, a daily creation,

In the language of pecking, a vibrant narration.

On straw-strewn stages, the chicks unfold,

A feathered ballet, a tale untold.

With beaks as quills, they script the earth,

A poultry's prose, a clucky rebirth.

Cackling choruses at dawn's first kiss,

A sunrise serenade, a clucking bliss.

In the coop's embrace, a sacred bond,

Chickens whisper tales, responding to dawn.

Soft plumes, a quill in the farmer's hand,

In the poultry yard, where dreams expand.

A poultry poetry, simple and free,

In the heart of the coop, their symphony.

Oh, chickens, poets of the homely earth,

In your feathered tales, we find our mirth.

With every cluck, a stanza takes flight,

In the poetry of chickens, a pure delight.