🐓 The Rooster Who Wanted Every Nest

A Project 2025 Satirical Forest Fable

by Forest Moss © 2025

1

In the Grove of All Branches, where nests softly swayed,

Each critter had duties, and most fairly played.

The beavers built bridges, the owls judged disputes,

The squirrels stocked nuts and wore humble suits.

2

But down from the hill came a rooster one dawn—

With chest puffed high and his crown firmly on.

“I’m back!” he crowed loud, with a trumpet of glee.

“I’ve written a plan called Feathers Rule Three!”

3

He dragged a scroll so vast and wide,

It spiraled down roots on either side.

At dusk, each law was pinned to trees—

The forest’s breath would carry decrees.

4

“It’s time,” he declared, “for a whole new regime—

With one bird in charge of the forest’s great dream!

I’ll pick every critter for every small post—

I’ll hire the best ones—who flatter me most!”

5

He flapped through the grove, replaced every mole

With weasels who whispered, “Your fluff is our goal!”

Old Beaver was booted—“Your dams look too wet.”

“But Rooster,” they pleaded, “he’s not finished yet!”

6

“Enough of your murmurs! Enough of your moans!

The nests will now chirp in Patriot Tones!”

He scribbled new laws with a peck and a squawk,

And covered old scrolls with a crimson chalk.

7

He banned all bright nests that once welcomed all tails,

Declared forest parades must goose-step in quails.

“Diversity’s messy,” he muttered with scorn—

“Let’s just have one feather type, properly worn.”

8

He launched a grand school on the edge of the glade

Called Feather Fellows Nest Brigade.

There, squirrels were trained to salute and recite—

“Whatever He Caws must surely be right!”

9

A young jay named Kip once sang at each dawn,

But paused now at Rooster’s rewritten song.

“The rhythm feels tight... but the echo feels wrong,”

He whispered, then faded mid-measure, mid-throng.

10

Lantern the Beetle, who quietly glowed,

Lit up her shell till the dark trail showed.

She paused, unsure, her glow burning low—

“What if I shine, and they won’t want to know?”

11

She whispered, “Still… someone must shimmer with doubt,”

And stepped toward the stump where old scrolls had burned out.

“Does ruling all branches mean dimming them out?”

She asked with a flicker—fragile, yet stout.

12

The forest stood still, their breath held tight—

Would anyone stand? Would anyone write?

A hush fell across the old council log,

As Kip tucked his beak ‘neath a silence like fog.

13

No parades marched. No flutes blew in pine.

Even the moss grew in worried design.

A sorrowful hush, not yet revolt—

Just roots remembering what they were built to uphold.

14

Rooster just cawed, “That’s sabotage speak!”

And labeled her “Not Loyal Enough for a Beak.”

He hired ten skunks and a goose with a flag

To sniff out dissenters and slap them with tags.

15

Then Sprig the small chipmunk, who’d watched it all pass,

Stood up on a stone near the Councilor’s Grass.

His heart thumped fast. His tail gave a twitch.

“What if I say it—and they call me a glitch?”

16

He gulped. Then he whispered, “I’ll try just one line…”

And rose with a squeak:

“I liked when our nests weren’t carved all alike—

When thoughts could take flight without echo or strike.”

17

Rooster just blinked, then gave a great laugh:

“You challenge my rule with your rodent behalf?”

But more critters gathered from meadow and glen,

Whispering, “Maybe… we need scrolls again.”

18

They quoted the roots still etched in the cave,

Where moss held the laws that once made them brave.

It warned of a bird who rewrote every vine—

But fell when the forest remembered its spine.

19

Then down by the grove where the moonflowers glow,

They planted new scrolls so the young ones would know.

And Lantern passed light to a chipmunk and hare,

Who shared it in hollows with fairness and care.

20

The Feather Fellows camp now stood overgrown,

With ivy reclaiming the training stone.

Rooster still caws from a roped-off roost tower—

But fewer now follow his “Feathers of Power.”

21

He once tried to license the glow of the moon—

But dropped the idea when the tide changed too soon.

Now Kip sings again—not too proud, not too loud—

But his song rides the hush of a morning unbowed.

22

And Lantern was met, near the roots of the feast,

By young ones who hummed her a song of release.

No medals were hung. No scrolls were re-spread.

Just a hush full of thanks for the light she had led.

✒️ Final Moral (Hybrid Edition):

Let no single rooster decide every post—

A forest is strongest when all share the roost.

And if there’s a feast? Then raise a toast—

To every voice, not just the most.