The oldest in the book

The feathered dame

paced back and forth,

clicking feet upon the pavement.

Her cogs spun on overdrive;

Her limbs raised in a lament.

The crossing looked

solid enough,

but her eyes had oft deceived her.

It could be a trick perchance

and then where would that leave her?

She strutted up

and down for hours

in such total indecision

that passers-by stopped to stare

and puzzled at the vision.

At last she poked

a toe onto

the black path with restraint;

when the path did not give way

she looked like she might faint.

The onlookers

cheered and clapped

as step by step and toe by toe,

the chicken finally crossed o’er to

the other side of the road.