Sounds bouncing from realms of chaos
Magnified by mouth of the cruel
Heads powerful to shut them out
Sit panicking in clothes of fear
As the jerkings become intense
They fold themselves into cocoon
Poor weaklings with filled drum bellies,
Poor green leaves with nice fruity dreams
They suffer unjustly always
Their voices sit covered like drums
Who but the hen stirs soil for food?
Who but the chicks tag along hens?
Oh ye cocks turned chickens today,
Hear this voice and know your place now
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014