Under the Sun

 

“Under the Sun by Maisie Aletha Smikle

The year was seventeen ten
When I turned ten
I played with Maggy my hen
And wrote a skit for a friend

I fed Maggy corn
That was fetched from the barn
And milked the goats
For breakfast I made porridge from oats

On a bench I sat
Eating my Pop
When out flew Maggy my hen
From her pen

I left my meal
This was unreal
The hen had left her coop
So I got some grain and stooped

Then called out to Maggy my hen
Maggy O Maggy come back to your pen
The hen flapped her wings
Her leg was caught between two strings

Two men got my poor hen
They grabbed me and my hen
And stuffed us in a pen
Then sold us for a stipend

My precious hen they took
Made fire slaughter and cook
Then gulped water from a nearby brook
My poor neck was hooked

In chains like a crook
It must be a nightmare
The crooks were here
To get more than their share

Have I died and gone to hell
I simply couldn’t tell
I always do good
And was never misunderstood

Are these vultures
One could not tell
Their skin looked like the skin of bald head vultures
O dear me roaming wingless vultures

Are these aliens from hell
One could not tell
They looked like me head hands and feet
They don't have four feet

O Lord I did not make it to heaven
Even though I had forgiven
Heated red hot metal pierced my body
Steam gushed from my broiling flesh

There is no doubt these are the demons of hell
Brandishing fiery stones and red hot iron
Burning those who did not make it to heaven
Shoving them into hell’s decked unlit pit

The year was seventeen ten
When I turned ten
Maggy my hen flew from her pen
And the sun stopped shining at half past ten”

― Maisie Aletha Smikle