The hen knows no emotions
Only that a cock must father her child
In strong tussle, he does the climb
And your room echoes their crowing.
Closely behind days and weeks
A chick is cuddled to be hatched
Not awaiting its naming ceremony
Or desiring to meet its father.
Isn’t there something mystical
About not treading in the natural
Where a mother craves a father’s love
To give purpose to her little one?
Don’t you perceive the meaning within
That life has no hard fast rules
As the presence or the absence
Brings forth no permanence.