The Dung Hill Cock

With dastard-ness the shirker the sulk.
A barnyard dung hill cock.
Who for the want of confidence his
Wow's of apprehension creates,
His territorial terror and justified delight.

Oh for the want of courage and
The lack of romantic sill.
He stomps with his ego feeding deception
The molting sun burned featherless hen's
Of the hot summer sun.

The lust once inspirer by his early crow
As he routinely counts the highest spiral
Hopefully quickly learned and not forgotten
It's a trumpet calla and a hasty retreat
To a lien in the barricade pound.

A look up to the sky a frantic prayer
For a yearly autumn breeze.
Aha! The smell of rooster pot pie and dumplings
No more fear's the ambush and constant defeat
"Endured."

by Joyce H. Haase

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