Upon the glowing screen he stared,
Fingers poised, his mind ensnared.
The forum raged with urgent cries,
Yet one great riddle claimed his eyes.
"Behold the shelves, so bare, so bleak—
The eggs are gone, the prices peak!
But lo! The chickens walk unbound,
Their numbers strong, their clucks profound!"
He sat in silence, deep in thought,
A puzzle vast, conclusions fraught.
If hens abound in feathered might,
Then where have all their eggs taken flight?
Could farmers hoard in greedy glee,
Or forces dark conspire unseen?
Do chickens plot in whispered tones,
To keep their unborn to their own?
He scrolled, he typed, he pondered more,
He sought the truth on page and lore.
Was it demand? Was it disease?
Or fate’s cruel hand upon the breeze?
No answer came, no mind made clear,
Just echoes of his growing fear.
For if this world made sense no more,
What deeper truths lay at its core?
And so he sat, his coffee cold,
His post unread, his fate untold.
For some men seek the wealth of kings,
But he sought truth in stranger things.