Just an old rooster,
Crowing at the sun ―
The latter barely even seen by the masses,
And most certainly not heard,
For almost no one hears the sun.
Almost.
And the former,
Taken mostly as a nuisance ―
And mostly when crowing, naturally ―
Being otherwise useful
Only as a quaint trophy to themselves:
“Yes, we like to keep a rooster around;
Because we are cool like that.”
But they have no clue
What all his fuss is about ―
And why he would bother
To herald the day.
And they do not care to find out,
It will not occur to them even to wonder
What all the sun has seen
And heard and understood,
For they sleep and rise
Only to sleep again,
Having been roused
Only to roll over and hope
For more time in bed.
