It’s all around the hen house,
the roosters read it first,
the poulets get their fill of it,
so much they’ll almost burst
it’s a good read when hens are down
it bolsters up their spirit
it makes the coop smell rather foul
(or that’s the way I hear it!)
The book is full of these vignettes
one ladel at a time,
but all this methane makes me reel
I think I’ll stick to rhyme.


The fleecy pile
makes me smile

the way they’re cushioning my feet
keeps them dry and smelling sweet,

I like them short
I like them long

on my ‘dogs’
where they belong.

Be they crew or be they tube,
without them I feel like a rube.

My feet no longer perspirate
Your toe fetish will have to wait.


She sets herself; a life raft for wayward
sailors navigating life on a tumultuous sea.
Her beacon shines brightly,
a nightly sweep with eyes searching
and a smile that provides great light.
Lost souls find comfort there.
Every heart beats more sure;
no hazard is too great to bear.

Far and away she stands,
a gentle lady of a kind and nurturing soul.
Her goal remains within reach,
nature’s friend and confidant.
A mother’s caress never so sweet,
nor guiding hand so tender,
making a mental effort to present
her precious gift; melancholy’s true mender.

For she becomes the friend in which you place your trust,
the “embrace” in which you find comfort.
She is a beautiful soul,
a manifestation of every good thing.
She brings her smile to soothe your heart
and you start to believe in all of her charm;
a shield protecting and projecting
is the sanctuary disguised as her arms.

Secure in the shadows
miles from your eyes, you are wise
to rely on her heart being your rudder.
For the heavens give her direction
and her faith gives her solace.
Her face, an angel’s desire
and the smile she burns throughout,
with love’s unquenchable fire.

© 2012 – Walt Wojtanik