Flying Chicken

Yes, see its in the air

Like a jet

Hanging without flair

Moving but still there

Its face is out of sight

Tired claws it has hidden

This vertical tarmac not needing

Closed wings, this is its destination

Greasy gas dropping

As if with the wind it was fighting

Surely its time bend has come

With what it has long waited for

To do what eagles do

Some puppets do too

But the day the chicken flew

Never saw it again

But good our ports are filled

With cargos it dropped for us

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