Feathered Fiend

A new style of poetry I'd like to try.

A feather, without a friend, does not fly a bird.
A letter, without some help, does not write a word.
But for one tough cock this was not such the case;
For this foul crowing fowl required his space.
So one day he plotted an awful scheme.
If the hens vanished then he’d reign supreme!
He found a large, woody and dank crate,
And lured them all in with tasteful bait.
With that done he crowed at the sky,
Not knowing of a hidden spy.
A hungry fox was prowling.
He was torn, cruel and growling:
Seeing no feathered wing,
Except the rooster king.
Alone was his voice,
The fox had no choice.
A shriek so shrill
Then it was still.
The large box,
And the fox
Heard none
But one
Lone
Moan.