The Peacock

I wrote this poem when I was 11. It's called "The Peacock". I originally called it "Percy Peacock", but the name Percy has absolutely nothing to do with the poem. Anyways, here it is:

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There once was a peacock, filled with pride and an air
Of self-consciousness, strutting about everywhere.
He met a meager chicken as it built its nest;
He mocked and scorned its ugliness, compared to his colourful vest.
"Why you," cried the peacock, "You have no dainty feathers,
Your ugly white down, all dirty and rough, was beaten up by the weather.
But look at me, how handsome am I, compared to you little turd
Now what do you have to say for yourself, you sorry excuse of a bird?"
"Well," replied the chicken,"I may not be handsome, but yea
For my master the farmer, I lay a precious white egg every day."

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This is the second time I've posted more than once in one day.

Cries of Nature

My sister Michelle wrote this a long time ago:

Cries of Nature

A bird cries aloud in pain, from the depth of her soul.
The hurt and anguish comes in song,
The sadness leaves her cold.
The loneliness and sorrow in tune,
She trembles as she sings.
The pain is almost too hard to bear,
She folds her broken wings.
But from pain a sweet song is sung,
A song gentle to the ear.
It heals each heartbreak
And touches those who hear:
So sing, let your songs be sung.
Cry, little bird, cry.
Through your pain others will heal,
And one day, you will fly.
A beautiful flower is picked
In perfect youthful bloom,
But then is crushed, the blood is squeezed,
She cries out in painful gloom.
Her velvet petals are no more,
Her stem is thrown aside.
She cries until no tears are left,
Till there’s no place to hide.
But through her death perfume is made,
The fragrance enraptures all.
Bringing smiles to saddened hearts
Through the droplet be small.
So cry, let your fragrance spill,
Weep, pretty flower, weep
Through your death others will love,
So just quietly sleep.