The Little Wooden Cockerel

The little wooden cockerel stared at his little wooden legs and sighed. Without hinges at the knees he just couldn’t walk. He sat in the sunshine and puzzled as to how he could resolve this knotty issue.

The shadows cast by the bright sun of his wooden legs were sharp and clear on the ground. As he looked at them he began to hatch a plan as to how he might solve his ingrained problem. He just needed to be able to see his legs in more detail.

Using the tips of his wooden wings he carefully took out one of his shiny glass eyes and held it in front of the other to use as a tiny magnifying glass. As the sun danced through the lens he could see where and how he might just be able create knees.

The sun’s sharp rays danced and focussed on his wooden legs as he thought and pondered. In fact it was only the smell of burning that awoke him from his reverie. The Little Wooden Cockerel wanted to run from his burning legs, wanted to scream from his little wooden beak but it was too late.

Within a matter of moments the little wooden cockerel was just a pile of ash. Sometimes life isn't kneesy.