Half done is not undone

The serpentine road
Stretched from the horizon to the next
Just an insurmountable black pit of gravel
For the chicken on the sidewalk
The other side’s grass was green enough
Enticing enough
To warrant an attempt
Through the horrors of the road
But not even once
Did the right foot cross the left
Neither the left crossed the right
The chicken ain’t called chicken
For lack of names fancy or trite.
Goaded on by pretty pecking chicks
It once got into a rare daring fit
And tried with all its might
To pretend away the fears
Of traversing a path untried
Of reaching for a destination unknown.
But as they say
The seeds of success are sown
in recognizing every fear and its cause
and taking every care and pause.
The headlong rush
Howsoever daring
made the chicken lose its head
Flap its wings
And bury its head ostrich like
Into the black gravel of the serpentine road
The fears were back
It could never proclaim its ephemeral victory
But probably the omniscient world still knows
Or tries to understand
And that is why it always asks
What made the chicken want to cross?