It was the 4th day of the month, or so the chicken was told.
It was a dark and stormy night, the chicken was feeling bold.
It was a night like any other, but the chicken had a plan.
To cross minimalist prophets' pants, andประก the pants' sacred land.
For it was a quest for the ages, to see the prophets' secrets unfold.
And when it crossed, oh when it crossed, the prophets' pants were left so bold.
With feathers all ruffled, the chicken did stride.