Good days are eggs, time a mother hen.
This year is the Chinese Year of the Rooster.
Another moon year gone, this rooster brings
“Good luck! Honesty! Fidelity!”
He wakes the world from sleep
that sees everything with closed eyes,
because everything that lives
has sweet dreams and nightmares.
There are Xia to Ming,
Spider and Scorpion Tales not for children—
except the tale The Happy Spider,
who would not eat meaty flies—
he lived on grapes and wine,
flying rice, got drunk.
The Emperor Rooster,
father of good days, chick dynasties,
has suffered year after year
watching his hens in the yard
running around with their heads cut off.
This morning, he simply doesn't appear,
in his yard or timeless hen houses.
News in the marketplace and Tiananmen Square:
the Emperor Rooster is in China,
China is celebrating him,
the 4,715th year
since, cock of the walk, he came into the world.