Chicken Little

Chicken little woke up one morning,
and said, oh my god the sky is falling,
falling–on my head.

He ran around in circles,
flapping his wings,
shouting and lamenting
all sorts of things.

Meanwhile the farmer in the dell,
was plucking feathers from his friends,
Frying them up in his old frying pan,
he was a crispy skin kinda man.

Chicken little ran and ran,
instead of taking a look around,
and doing what he can.

After all, chickens must grow up some day.
And put in their time and take home their pay.
And for the new chickens make way.

And the sky did fall on poor chicken littles head,
and sorry to say, he wound up dead,
but not from the crush of the weight of the sky,
after all sky is just air to you and I.
But his end did come
from all those circles he done run.

~Jenny Miller