Poem Hunter
The Chicken House
(5-28-42 / Washington state USA)

The Chicken House

When I was a little girl about five
We bought baby chickens so small
Kept them warm by the wood stove
We could hardly hear them at all.

Just sweet little peeping sounds
I loved to sit on the floor by them
Cuddled up together they were
Each one was a golden gem.

But they grew very fast it seemed
When the warm weather was here
They had to go to the chicken house
Then I had a bit of a nagging fear.

For something could happen to them
So I would sit there quiet as a mouse
Oh, how memories pop up sometimes
Of my visits long at the chicken house.

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Comments (2)

Cute poem and cute picture. We used to have trouble with weasels getting into the chicken house. (And foxes, too.)
Nice poem. Old memories are great aren't they?