Pullus in passiones ignominiæ:

I am shamed and disincline,
the production of my hands to claim.
I thought to throw it, deny it's mine,
although on it I've sewn my name.

It was to be a perky hen,
with feathers white and comb bright red;
now that it's stuffed, instead it's been,
a disappointment rude instead.

After vain attempts, bulbous feet,
from its frontal part protrude;
its eyes one high, one low deplete,
hope of a perky attitude.

The minutes fly; I must not fail,
although I want the outcome to explain.
Still, I want to get a card into the mail;
still, I want to share the humor and the pain.

I changed the meter, but it may be apropos;
the remedy was sewing V's in feet,
forced under the presser foot --oh, gross,
but the hen responded with shape more complete.

I couldn't stand to throw it all away;
I pleated horizontally above one eye.
I tried the ladder stitch--hope it would stay;
I believe I'll give submitting it a try.

I'll include the hen with 'Tangled' Store,
the things I hope accepted, but chance slim;
and give it a chance once more,
to sink or do what chickens cannot--swim.