There’s always a big group of us,
Although I’m not too sure
who it typically consists of.
Chickens run around
their young not far behind
Wandering the corridors
of museums and mansions,
usually
I try and intervene,
on the madness before
it even ensues.
But I’m always too late,
too far away,
too slow.
There’s one thing though,
one way that I can save the day.
I sprint after the baby chick, and
pounce
to reel her in,
out of harm’s way.
I never know if I succeed.
