Uncle said you can fed
the chickens and then
later you can choose
which one we have for
dinner tomorrow and he
went off to work someplace
leaving you to feed and fret
over which of the noisy hens
would meet their end by
Uncle’s hand and end up
as the Sunday roast sitting
among potatoes and parsnips
as each of the family widened
their eyes and licked their lips.
You walked up and down the
wire staring at each hen in turn
wondering which one deserved
to live or die but they all had that
chicken look that unconcerned air
of being and walking each one
settled on the next mouth feed
the next bite and so you wandered
off not knowing which hen would
meet their mortal fate that night.
MEETING THEIR FATE.
MEETING THEIR FATE.
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Re: MEETING THEIR FATE.
I like this poem----it makes something as simple as a chicken dinner a momentous event & the kid is taught responsibility----whether the Uncle even thinks about it as a lesson or not. Which chicken do you choose to kill & eat? And this is an everyday event. I know there are Vegans etc but the majority of people (including me) don't have any qualms about eating chicken. This poem doesn't make me giveup eating chicken but it does make me think about personal responsibility &, in the case of the chickens, chance.
I think this is an amazing poem.
I think this is an amazing poem.
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
Re: MEETING THEIR FATE.
Thank you for reading & your insightful reply. 

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