(if you are on the archives page, click on continue reading to see this poem in the correct format.)
I wonder where my chicken is?
I’d surely like to know.
Is she perched in the pear tree
or fly south with the crows?
Perhaps she’s snoozing in the barn
where it’s nice and dark.
Perhaps my dog Zeke ate her
and now she’s in Zeke’s bark.
I looked up on the roof for her
and in the neighbors yard.
I don’t know why finding lost chickens
can be so dog-gone hard!
It’s not like I don’t feed her
or fill her water tray.
I talk to her very nicely
almost every single day.
I asked my mom to help me
but she says it’s time for lunch,
and Iv’e got a sneaky suspicion
but it’s only just a hunch.
That I’ll be seeing my chicken shortly
and I wouldn’t want to be late,
for mom’s chicken cacciatore
is really pretty great.