This is a wee poem I wrote, for kids, sort of inspired by "The Bantam Cock"
I used to live in the west of Ireland for many years, and I had my 3 dogs, 5 cats, 3 geese, 13 chickens, and a cock; oh and 3 goats. all taking care of me.
But there was one chicken, Martha, I never could get her to play the game; I found out why soon enough.
This is her story.

Martha the emancipated hen.

The air grew suddenly colder,
As the sun disappeared from the sky.
And the leaves on the trees flew away on the breeze,
As the wind circled downwards from on high.
The North - East gale had a sting in it's tale,
The likes which will ne'er be seen again,
The day we clipped the wings off
Martha the emancipated hen.

Oft on a fine spring morning
I'd arise to inspect my brood.
To collect one third of my breakfast,
and to bring my little chickens some food.
But who should I spy heading straight for the sky,
Flying from the shackles of her pen?
Our own little Emily Pankhurst
Martha the emancipated hen.

Never to be seen in social circles
In the company of others of her flock.
Or fighting for the amorous attentions
Of Arthur, the uncomprimising cock.
Away she would fly, with a glint in her eye
To the far flung reaches of the glen
Searching for the land of opportunity,
Martha the emancipated hen.

I said "Martha dear, this really isn't cricket,
And it's getting to be rather of a bore".
For since pioneering poultry aviation
My bacon, egg, and sausage is no more,
Now I creep round the fields
Hot on the heels,
Of that lady who should be in Number Ten
You all know of whom I speak of,
Martha the emancipated hen.

I was wary of eccentric behaviour,
(By this time it was getting out of hand).
And was nearly to seccumb to the temptation
of administering the final reprimand.
But that Rhode Island Red, coming down to be fed
had several little bundles in her train,
Chickens coming out in all directions,
From Martha the emancipated hen