The Snow Chicken, A Poem

My parents are keeping Jonas and Nick thoroughly entertained in Wisconsin. In this picture, the boys are spraying colored water on a snow chicken. Too much fun.

As I was talking to my mom on the phone last night, she mentioned that during supper (it's Wisconsin - they don't call it dinner - it's supper) they counted how many activities they had done in three days, but she would let Nick tell me.

When I talked to Nick, he said the number was 50.

When I talked to my dad, I reminded him that they didn't need to entertain the boys at all times. He said that they weren't. When I asked him about the list of activities, he said they had to stop counting at 50 because the boys were including activites such as opening a door.

This photo inspired me to write a poem, which I am happy to share with my faithful readers.

You are a chicken made of snow
Any you should be quite glad.
For if you belonged to K F C
You would be quite sad.

Not only would you become a nugget
For some unattractive slob
But your cage would be dirty, full of disease
And your name would not be Bob.

On second thought you may be free
from worry, fear, and dread
The colonel probably doesn't use real chicken
And anyway, he's dead.

So, colored chicken, that soon will melt
Enjoy your time while you can
And don't forget that you were made
By some very special hands.