The Old Chicken Farmer

I think I will sit down and write,
Tell a story of a lone old man
Who had no friends to call his own
Except the chickens on his farm

Every morning, all through the years,
He would get up when his rooster crowed,
Cleaned out the barn, gathered the eggs
And happily fed his friends their grain.

Till came a day when someone said
What a waste of grain it really was,
And why not trade his old chicken farm
For a lucrative, moonshine farm.

The farmer thought and thought it over,
And with each passing day at sunset
He found all the more good reasons why
A moonshine farm was what he wanted.

It would be nice on cold winter nights
When the old bones were weary and sore,
To brew his own medical cure
That would take all his aches away.

But, being of such soft heart and more,
He couldn't let his beloved chickens go.
They were too dear to his tender heart
So . . . No other way they had to stay.

Next morning he went down to see
And set to work to divide the barn.
His chickens looked on mystified,
But settled down in half the barn.

Around the clock the old man worked
Till glory be, there came the day
The sweetest medication flowed,
Without delay he sampled it.

Good grief, he thought, that man was right.
Grain really made a brew divine
As all his aches and pains disappeared
The more he sampled his medicine.

The day went by, he needed rest
And with all aches and pains now gone
Lay down right there for glorious sleep
After he gave his chickens their feed.

For a little while all was quiet, well
Only his snoring broke the air,
And then . . . one by one slowly they came,
First one chicken and then another.

You see, in his happy, carefree state
The old man forgot to close the door,
So out they came to investigate
That heavenly smell that hung around.

And the chickens, being kind of dumb,
They thought the huge pile of mash they found
Was left there just for them to taste,
And gaily eat it till all was gone.

The farmer happily kept snoring
Oblivious of what was going on
While staggering chickens were falling
Down, with a deep sigh they went to sleep.

The sun came up on a bright new day.
The man woke up and stretched his legs.
He had not slept so well in years.
Felt stronger than he ever had.

He looked around and looked again.
Chickens were strewn lifeless and still
All over the old barn's floor,
Mowed down by strange mysterious hands.

Fully awake now and shaking,
He went and touched to feel for life.
They were still warm but did not move
Their bodies limp, their eyes stayed closed.

With tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks
Because of the loss of all his friends,
He quietly went to pick them up, while
Strengthening himself with a drink.

To waste good meat was always a sin
In the old farmer's way of life,
So he now set forth to pluck each one
Till all were done and very still.

He was of course a little tired now,
Thought he would rest for just awhile
Before he went to cut them all up
And do whatever had to be done.

That medicine sure was really good,
He thought, while taking another drink.
Even the pain of losing his friends
Was not so bad after a few drinks.

The day went by and evening came.
The farmer slept all through the night
Till once more the bright sun came up
And woke him from a restful sleep.

He looked around full of surprise
There was not one chicken about
He shook his head and was not sure
If it was real or just a bad dream.

Then . . . his old heart did a double take.
He could hear his friends crackling outside
So . . . it was after all just a dream
He thought, running out of the barn.

I do not think I can describe
In a few lines what met his eyes
But . . . you just think . . . picture those chickens
Without their feathers running outside.

The neighbours came from far and wide
Their laughter heard for miles and miles,
The farmer, his life filled with new friends
Gave up on brewing more moonshine.

~ E. de M. ~ 

Poem from "Lines Like Flowers" Volume 2
Copyright © by E. d M. and Roland U. Belanger
February 8, 1980.