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.
No comments:
Post a Comment