"Eighteen Laying Hens"

By Cal Burgess

Eighteen laying hens, 

Mud, sludge and gravel,

     Swamp Maple and matted grass,

      And the rickety old door–

It’s my escape to Arcadia.

I see all those chickens darting about,

One by one stretching at faded mosses,

        Frolicking and clucking away the days.

If only we were all as wise as them.

By Cal Burgess