Sonnet #301

If all the chickens in all the silos were set free

some survive a little longer and walk in moonlight 

and daylight and dappled forest shade and fight

down into the roots and live, we would see

More chickens than we could ever devour

More birds than any man could ever take

Of course there would be damage and break

Where niches in the web of life would sour

But think, set free, loose and limber and running

where all the corners of the meadows hold them

How these birds would swell in numbers, sunning

on rocks, stunning in bright feathers, hunting, feeding them

who hunt, an abundance beyond the work of man

Two birds in the bush is worth more than one in the hand.