11. Why did the chicken cross the road?

William Moore made an excelent explanation.

There once was a chicken, who lived by the lane,
Content with her corn and her shelter from rain.
But whispers would rise when the moonligt was low,
From the road's other side, where the lamp lanterns glowed.

She'd watch the road shimmer, a ribbon of black,
The hum of the traffic, the smell of the tarmac.
And deep in her breast a strange knowing took hold,
That the air on the farside was older than old.

The others all warned her: "Don't wander, don't go",
"The carriages thunder, their eyes all aglow!"
But she dreamed of the truth that the dark verge conceiled,
And of things that are found when the world is unsealed.

So, one misted morning, she stepped from the pen.
Her claws in the gravel, she counted to ten.
The dawn split in silver, the verge crawling in moss,
The calling grew louder and she started to cross,

They say that she crossed when the engines were near,
Unblinking, unfinching, without any fear.
The road swallowed sound, the horizon turned wide,
And none saw what waited on the opposite side.

No one could say if she made it across,
Or if knowledge and death are the same kind of loss.
So, mind where you wander, and mind what you learn,
Some questions, once answered, will never return.