Behold, the Cock

Cockerel

Fiery cloaks and crimson masks,
they cluck, in and out –
striding with claws at half-mast.
It won’t be long, ‘til you find
the one,
he’ll be the first to crow:
Cock-a-doodle-do!

In and out, they mingle,
heads rising above the flock,
wings fluttering – No I
am the cock!
But until those first licks
of light, it’s hard to know who is
right.
Just wait for that circadian
clock.

Yes, I am the cock. The first
to puff my coppery chest – to
rise above the rest and sing:
Cock-a-doodle-do!
Then, number two pipes up –
wait for me, I’m powerful, too!
Cock-a-doodle-do!
Then three, then four
sing the patriarchy’s score:
I have the biggest roost!
I have the plumpest hen!
But I am the most honest of all the men!

The melange of rusty barnets and
emerald tail-feathers unearth the dust.
Who can crow the loudest –
who is making the biggest fuss?
Still, the pinkish sky is pruning the clouds;
the trees are nourishing their leaves;
the little stream is in a rush to meet the sea;
and the daisies keep on feeding the bees.

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