The Chickens And Statesmen Poem by Yorktown Disciple

On these roosts that quietly rest far above soft chicken poop,
The rear of the Statesman hangs out with a shadow near his feet,
Often passing legislation that will smell for ages after his defeat,
So willingly, he continues to plant droppings to bolster a big whoop;

And, lest not forget, the Statesman and the chicken sit together
Targeting the floor below as if life were a bombing game,
The rest of us are slow to understand the claws used to shame
Freedom - of the life we hold so dear but would wish to tether.

God help us all, let the chicken lay only eggs and the Statesman too,
But if, like I think, they want more of my blood than I can give,
Close the coop and pen them in until the stench - they must relive;
Another election will help to singe feathers with a constitutional tattoo.

And chickens and Statesman will be seen as the same flock;
The world we want will be near to God and thee; I'll be in shock!