Sat in the hen-house, The rooster clucks, Prior to his fulfillment of Prime
“Have you ever thought about “cock-a-doodle-doo?” Saith one rooster ponderously. “How my call beckons to the man? And the man responds As if my cock-a-doodle-doo means something When it’s not but sound.”
Is a prayer nought but sound? When it proceeds from the mouth Small or large. Yet every morning—my call and his response —a crow like a prayer. How curious?”
And with that he defecated. And called out “cock-a-doodle-doo!” To wake the farmer.
Samuel Schaefer is a writer living in Tallahassee, Florida. His work has appeared in the Voeglin View, American Spectator, and the Ekphrastic Review. He also runs a Substack called The Pony Express.