Speckled Hen

Tucking in the Chickens, by Maria Wulf of Bedlam Farm , from her Full Moon Fibre Art blog.
Posted for Margaret's challenge at Real Toads: to write a poem in any form  inspired by the visual poetry of Maria Wulf.

Here you go, girls,
with your sleepy eyes, 
tired from hunting insects 
and spying scattered seed all day,
your feathers ruffled from 
racing each other to the far-flung corn,
feelings hurt by being beaten to the best bites,
each day all energy expended
to making it through the daily struggle
for survival.

Come in here, where your roosts 
are plump with fresh hay,
where, door shut, you can be assured
no fox or raccoon will disturb your sleep.
Your soft mournful brooding sounds 
and doleful clucks
sing down the sunset, as you picky-toe 
your bulky body in a circle, 
settling yourself into the hay,
feathers puffed  in outrage
at being thus observed
at your nightly toilette.

I will leave you, then,
speckled being,
wishing you a fine sleep,
dreams of ample corn 
and bugs and table scraps
on the morrow,
and - a hen's dearest dream -
a round and perfect egg
in your nest
come morning,
which you will view with pride
and a beady eye,
knowing no other hen
can possibly birth
a finer one 
than yours.