DIARY OF A CHRISTMAS CHICKEN

The argument is still on
Of which comes first;
the egg or the chicken
but that’s not what they do in their kitchens.

I grew up in a lively community

Where eating and drinking were our only occupations.
Love was showered on us daily,
much love that we were too busy to ask why.

Unlike the native birds that wander about,
We had a place we could call a home.
They gave us so much feed that we couldn’t walk,
We ate so much that we couldn’t talk.

The Sun didn’t scorch us when it’s so bright
neither did the rain drench us by night.
We lived happily with minor brawls
that usually end draws.

But as the air became dusty
and as the temperature fell,
the mighty amongst us were declared missing.
Their whereabouts none could tell.

Again they came, saw and conquered a fellow.
It struggled, screamed and cried.
The last thing I saw was a knife;
it seems they just took another life.

Who knows when next they’ll come?
It may.. it may be…
I just hope it’ll be next May.
The next word I heard was “YOU, COME!