My Pen
How dare you come into my pen
I said “Get out! Get out!”
You imbecile can you not hear
I said “Get out! Get out!”
Don’t dare come into my pen again
My pen is my place of peacefulness
Where I practice my placement of judgment
Towards the tumbling stones thrown at me
My pen is my place of safety
My sacred space of security
A satisfying Saturday where I relax
A lazy Sunday where I lay back
And a tiresome Monday where my mind is never on track
I lay an egg per day but it’s never good enough
The farmer bothers us day and night
I tell him “Get out! Get out!”
But he never seems to hear me
I bother and I peck
But I never receive attention or respect
I cry and I try
But I only seem weak
Don’t dare come into my pen again
I said “Get out! Get out!”
You imbecile can you not hear
I said “Get out! Get out!”
How dare you come into my pen
