Like anxious fowls so are we,
Battered beings with our burdensome consciousness.
Mother he will always scratch and cluck.
Gathering and sorting fixings for the making of yolks and shells.
Life cannot be shirked; tomorrow needs an egg.
A little love bestir broodiness: broodiness as a shield and weapon,
Meant to tame and protect.
So mother hen will peck and cluck.
Anxious fowls, so are we, running from random hovering shadows,
Scrambling for bushes and tickets were serpents need not to be disturbed
In their siestas.
Hoping to forfend our ends.
As the sun rises and plunges,
So do we scratch and scramble; peck and hide,
For tomorrow needs an egg from us.
A poem by Tonny Wandella