Wattle I Do?

 

 

When I awoke this morning

there were feathers in my bed.

A beady little pair of eyes

was bulging in my head.

 

I tried to shout for help

but I just clucked; I couldn’t speak.

My mouth had been supplanted

by a little pointy beak.

 

My arms had turned to wings.

My comb was difficult to hide.

My mum made eggs for breakfast –

when she scrambled them I cried.

 

This morning I felt fowl

from my head down to my socks.

I hope that I recover

from this bout of chicken pox.

(published in I Bet I Can Make You Laugh)

 

 

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