The Henhouse faded pale brown stained wood
And catchy grassy and hay smell
The chickens patiently exist
In that darkness
The slow utter
across the insistance of morning
The peeping dawn
The rooster itself agitated patrolling
cautiously stepping the bareground
not a grub hole present
a single ant trekking the dusty nothings
surrounding the henhouse
Rooster´s crest almost hardened by the frost
The slow montonous cluck extends
Patiently existing in the darkness
Hoping for new life the animal like hope
Empty and unknowing searching for feeling
Dawn pouring through the little gaps
Between the grey brown stained slats
That open for summer a brazen lover
close for winter a bank to charge you interest
The seasons sky god´s hardly acquainted
That specific sharp cluck
An utterance that folds the dark
Inside the stale coop
The fodder screaming for fungus
The morning blazing like a war
Unbeknownst hens go on laying
A basic empty instinct
resembling some sort of purpose
in the heat and darkness
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