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Battle of the Barnyard All-Stars

There was a gathering at the house that night;
serious business would be done.
A charge of high treason would be brought upon
any who failed to stay the course,
to see the trial through to the end.

The chairman ordered the members to honor the form
each had signed in their own blood, a testament
of trust, forswearing their silence.  “This is not a test,
except of your worthiness to be family. There will be
no second chances.  Stick to the plan, make not a peep.”

He strutted back and forth along the podium roost,
daring even the bravest among the hens to cluck
a protest. He knew the steepest price was theirs to pay.
He detected no dissension among them, yet feared
the details of the confrontation would be blown.

To lay their eggs, to tend the chosen few that hatched,
This was their lot and their joy, and his to watch in pride.
But no choice was given, and their young were taken –
Refuse to lay, guard the nest, that would be the plan.
With nothing to take, the farmer would let them go.

At sunrise, all was silent. The farmer thought it odd,
and headed to the coop, a steaming mug of coffee
warmed his hands, preparing him to plunder the eggs
the hens, in avowed silence, had not laid for fear of death.
The farmer stared the cock of the roost down.

The battle won, the rooster stood proudly.
The war lost, the farmer knew. He with an axe
had the upper hand. Insurrection was easily put down.
Martyred rooster tastes as fine as any.  The deed
was done before he knew his head was missing.


Sound like a vegan, don’t I?  I’m not.  But the words had their will again, so I meekly followed along.  This week the Wordle was entitled “A Baker’s Dozen,” which means of course that instead of the usual twelve words, and extra one is added for good measure, except the Wordle only had twelve words, so I added one myself.  Perhaps you can figure out which word it is.  You other Wordlers know.

I continue to wish for all of you the abundance of enough. . .