My grandmother kept hens. <br />And her hens loved her. <br />They followed <br />wherever she went <br />even into her kitchen. <br /> <br />Then, hands on hips <br />and quite half hearted <br />she would shoo them <br />towards the door. <br /> <br />And clear and still <br />in my mind's eye <br />I see those hens as <br />they flutter and fly <br />to the playful tilt <br />of her apron.<br /><br />Sean Joyce<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-see-those-hens-as-they-flutter-and-fly/
