Lily and Milly and Chocolate and Alice,
The resident birds down at Cluckingham Palace
All scurried away as I hove into view
With my shovel and rake and my wheelbarrow too.
See, chickens are lovely, they're cute and they're gentle,
They never take time off, parental or dental,
But they do have a habit which gets to a chap -
They're prone to producing vast mountains of crap.
Oh, yes, it's that day when I clean out the coop,
The Gulag of guano, the Palais de Poop.
I'll be shovelling shit in the Dungeon of Dung,
More smelly and black than a coal-miner's lung.
So here I am wading through muck to my knees
While stooped at an angle of ninety degrees.
My nose is assaulted by pungent aroma -
I'm cramped, cracked and crazy and close to a coma.
One thought still sustains me, one concept revives:
My struggle brings succour to so many lives.
My beans all say thank you, my rhubarb salutes
As chooky-poo manna refreshes their roots.
Chillis, tomatoes and aubergines too
All thrive on this wonderful, life-giving goo.
A green thumb will tell you there's never a match
For chicken manure on your vegetable patch.
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