Fowl Play (Poetry)

All quiet in the chicken shed
the August moon rose full
and sailed benignly overhead
the nightwind whispered cool

The birds all slumbered row on row
odd shuffles here and there
a field mouse tiptoed to and fro
his thieving done with care

Outside the shadows stood their ground
the midnight hour nigh
then from the lane the strangest sound
came clear and floating by

A second passed and then the door
of that old shed swung wide
and hesitant as though unsure
emerging from inside

a feathered figure girlish-slim
and pale as any ghost
she clucked half-human — called to him
who stayed unseen but close

Out she crept across the yard
white plumage virgin-neat
the vision only slightly marred
by bright pink chicken feet

She wandered off into the night
with no sign of concern
and it was clear by Dawn’s first light
she’d no thought to return

They found one feather in the lane
and footprints in the mud
the local foxes got the blame
despite no trace of blood

No suggestion of a struggle
such a shame — a lovely bird
while her sisters brood and huddle
make a wish and Mum’s the word