"His Chickens Are Out!"

There's this man who lives somewhere between Hunter River and Kensington, who lets his poultry run free in his front yard. I've noticed, however, that he doesn't let them out in the winter. But today, as I was staring out my window on the way home from school, I saw them! It must be spring, because his chickens were back! In honor of this milestone I have decided to write a poem for his chickens:

Feathers of gold,
except those that are brown
when I first glanced your way
you were running around
So peckish and free
so cool and refined
to think anything else
you'd have to be blind
I remember that day
back in September,
you fulfilled that joke
oh don't you remember?
Why did the chicken
cross the highway, or road
it is with your help alone
I could crack this code
You crossed because you could
you crossed to stand out
could any other do it like you?
this I truly doubt

Go see the chickens sometime, they inspire.

Smell ya later

I'm just wondering why there is no such website as www.smellyalater.com. If I had the power, I would create one, but alas I am without such talents. I bet it would be a funny site, if it existed.
In other news, I have also been thinking about water babies lately. If anyone does not remember these, they were rubber dolls which you filled with water, and so they were just like real babies, except real babies have bones. I had one once, and chewed her fingers to bits, yet the baby did not leak.
Thirdly, I think its weird that when it snows everyone walks with their head down. I know that I do it too, but it's funny. It's not like snow hurts you if it hits your face. I bet no one would lower their head if marshmellows feel gracefully from the sky, and they are about twelve hundred times bigger. Hmm...
So here are three fresh thoughts for your young minds, and I really really really hope someone gets to work on smellyalater.com.
Have a fannntastic day!