At dusk, a child races home just as darkness reaches the gate. The pigeons have already gone to the church tower, and the hens are settling on their roost in the barn. The speaker stops, held by a soft, purring murmur from the hens. To her, their clucks sound like a question repeated over and over, as if the birds are asking something no one answers. One hen shifts, her feathers making a small ruffled noise, tucks her head into her wing, and grows still. The poem captures that quiet moment when the world is going to sleep and a child lingers to listen. It feels hushed, gentle, and faintly mysterious—full of the sounds of settling animals and the sense that some small question has been left hanging in the dark.
The Hens — Summary
The night was coming very fast; It reached the gate as I ran past.
The pigeons had gone to the tower of the church And all the hens were on their perch,
Up in the barn, and I thought I heard A piece of a little purring word.
I stopped inside, waiting and staying, To try to hear what the hens were saying.
They were asking something, that was plain, Asking it over and over again.
One of them moved and turned around, Her feathers made a ruffled sound,
A ruffled sound, like a bushful of birds, And she said her little asking words.
She pushed her head close into her wing, But nothing answered anything.