Caged Hens

• Chloe Hancock, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2010

Human guns explode outside
As I lay here, trapped, wishing I could glide
Through the fresh morning air 'till I lay my head.
But here I lay, caged instead.

Outside, foolish farmers are dying for pride,
And their wives are scrambling around inside.
I silently pray for their war to end,
Or for hope of escape, but these bars do not bend.

What a thing to die for-a few dirty eggs!
I cry out in pain; I feel weak in the legs,
And my feathers are turning a dark shade of red.
Giving on final sigh, I lay down my head.