Midnight chicken

I dreamed of feathers and flapping of wings,

Some cluck clucks and egg-shaped things.

I woke up, went down and kitchened myself,

Breakfast time, muesli on the shelf.

Or so I thought, it was gone,

The fruit and seeds too, the list goes on.

Three-pronged footprints on the floor and walls,

Feathers strewn everywhere, along my clean halls.

The front door open, lock picked by a feather,

I was confused adding this all together.

Then I saw a note, a small piece of paper,

Left by the one who performed this caper.

As I read the note, my blood began to thicken:

“You’ve been had by the midnight chicken!”


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