In memory of Phoebe, the Wise Old Hen🙏💔🐓
In a nest by the window where lavender grows,
Lives Phoebe the hen with her wrinkled old toes.
Her feathers are faded, but don’t be misled,
She’s the queen of the coop and a few steps ahead.
The young pullets gather, eyes wide and aglow,
Whenever old Phoebe begins her grand show.
With a sip from her saucer and flap of her wing,
She’ll launch into tales about just everything.
“I’ve danced in a barn under lanterns in Spain,
And rode on a ferry through tropical rain.
I once laid an egg on a yacht, in the sun
The captain applauded. Oh, what splendid fun!
I’ve seen Mount Fuji in dawn’s early light,
And dodged a raccoon in a rooftop night flight.
I’ve strutted through Paris, I’ve clucked through Peru,
Met parrots in Rio and real dodos too!”
The chicks all sit spellbound, their beaks parted wide,
Their eyes full of stars, and their hearts full of pride.
For Phoebe, the hen with a passport of gold,
Has stories worth more than jewels she once sold.
“But darlings,” she coos with a smile and a sigh,
“Adventure is grand, but let me tell you why.
There’s nothing so sweet as a soft grassy bed,
A sunbeam to sit in, a scratch near the shed.
Featherfield found me when wanderlust faded,
When my feet were tired and my feathers jaded.
Now Cluckingham Palace is all that I need
With kindhearted folk and the finest of feed.”
She preens a young chick with a kiss on the crown,
And pecks at anotherwho’s clowning around.
For Phoebe’s not just a fine storyteller
She’s coop boss, and mother, and morning-yeller.
She teaches the girls to be clever and kind,
To peck with a purpose, but mind their behinds.
To travel if called, and to dream as they grow,
And honour the henhouse, wherever they go.
So here’s to old Phoebe, in twilight and sun,
Her stories now told, but her duty not done.
She rests in her straw, a legend, a friend,
A hen for the ages, A queen to the end.