By Gladwin George
Walking into the shop,
I saw with utter shock;
blood spread on the floor
two hands afresh gore.
My heart in turmoil,
Why chickens do we broil-
No time to lament and swoon,
guests will arrive soon.
"How much,? " shopkeeper asked.
"Two, a little big "I lashed.
A cruel smile, and he dashed.
in tears, I took my cash.
With true dexterity he killed,
two more lives to his fill.
Oh! Will God ever forgive
this butcher, in heaven to live?
Watching the chickens , me swore
never again shall this door,
be crossed by my feet
to witness this damn feat.
Strolling home I thought
the plight of chicken lot-
to live in iron`n`steel,
never to enjoy nature sweet.
The poor're now made spicy,
ALAS, they make my tongue watery.
To do something for them I dare;
but now let me have my share.
Tribute shall i pay-with pen
to all that're called hens.
Threnody I solemnly write,
to the one I now bite.
By Gladwin George
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