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)