It’s 4.30am, the old rooster called

Wakeup, with a cocka-doodle doo, he squawks.

The sun is casting; it’s time to rise

Chickens all colours, some as black as blowflies.

We open our eyes, bottom lids down

Fluff up our feathers, flop down to the ground.

Some in the hen house, others in trees

Can’t we sleep in, just a little longer please?

No! The insects are up; it’s time to go

Cackling and chirping, waddling to and fro.

Scratch, first with the left and then the right

Our beaks make a kill at the speed of light.

House scraps delivered with a little grain

Must fine some shelter, it looks like rain.

It’s 10.00 am, I feel an egg coming on

Must find my nest, oops! Almost waited too long.

I’ve been doing it for ages this laying game

All double yolkers are my claim to fame.

Last year I had a brood of fine fluffy chicks

But one by one they became table drumsticks.

I am happy though, a house and three square

My only wish is the dog weren’t right here.

They chase us forever the big black brutes

Well, night is falling, so it’s back to the roost.

I clamber up slowly, a long tiring day

Fluff up my feathers, squat down on the hay.

Cackle good night and close my eyes

And think of worms and fat butterflies.