Ode to a Barred Rock

None were as deft at unearthing crawlies from newly upturned wood, none as swift to heed the call of the arrival of a new epicurean experiment, waddling at break-neck speed from across the avian way. The whittled perch that always held three now becries an untenanted place next to the window frame where you roosted night after night, the singular recipient of feather strokes as the evening count commenced. Two-by-two is lesser one, save the fond memory that takes your place.