Willy Yeats' Chicken

I will arise and go now to try and cross the road,
there's a little cabin over there of clay and wattles made
and a little chick that lives within—Way-hey! The traffic's slowed,
I’ll dash across and hopefully get laid.

There's a little beauty lives there, and she starts dropping slow,
dropping all those little veils and lacy underthings;
when moonlight's all a-glimmer and her mother doesn't know
that I pull her little chicken's strings.

I'm going to make a dash now, for always night and day
this god-damn traffic never stops, it just gets more and more.
While I stand here on the roadway will I make the pavement grey?
I fear it in the deep heart's core.

© Jim Hayes