With kingly pride, beak opened wide,
His clarion call is clear,
And, as the night turns into day,
He wakes those far and near.
Far from the world of sleeping man,
Is carried through the morning mist
To waken me and you.
King of the Roost, most splendid bird,
Attired in feathers bright:
You wear a crown fit for a king
And are an awesome sight.
You guard your harem vigorously
From males who venture near
And display those razzle dazzle plumes
Within your regal sphere.
I feel a sadness that most folk
First meet you on a plate.
That, surely for King of the Roost,
Must be a cruel fate.
Copyright on all my poems
and on Anita's illustration