who comes into my yard.
Getting in must be so simple.
Getting out must be so hard.
Each and every morning,
It become our rendezvous
for me to open up the gate
so he can then pass through.
Up until the point he leaves
with his feathers all askew
he puffs his chest and arcs his neck
for every cockadoodle-doo.
“I’m here because I want to be!
My circumstance by choice!”
But even in his prideful boast
I hear the stutter in his voice.
Inside he’s begging mercy.
Underneath he cries for grace.
He knows that I’ll decide
if he ever leaves this place.
I open the gate slowly
and sit down on the stair.
He pretends he doesn’t see.
He pretends he doesn’t care.
A few more pecks, another crow
a staredown or two or three,
and then he steps up through the gate
and once again...he’s free.
I smile at your arrogant ways
and the silly things you do,
And I wonder, Mr. Rooster,
if to my Lord, I’m just like you.
In the sin that I fall into,
do I return in foolish spite?
Do I wander over walls
I do not see until the light?
And when His gaze upon me
causes me to look around,
do I act so boldly foolish
that I peck the empty ground?
in my arrogance do I crow,
do I proudly boast my ways,
when in my heart I really know
that He’s marked out my days?
And when the gate does open
and we’re set free from our sin,
do you feel embarrassed as I
that we’re in this place again?
Mr. Rooster, go on now.
“Cockadoodle-doo!”
Yes, Yes my friend, I heard you.
Someday you’ll make good stew.
Impressive work of Poetry!
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