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Soul of a Farm Animal


By the broken hedge, sat my soul,

Dreaming of the life, lived not full;

Letting myself burn under the sun,

For I missed all the fun;

Being a slave to the past,

Eating me, furious and fast.

My tongue never tasted sweetness;

For my heart is loveless.

There will never be any volunteer;

To console my eyes that tear,

To share the wound of shear,

Or to shadow my fear.

Die I must, alone;

Having nothing of my own.

Joy?

Oh! Boy.

Just pain,

And vain.

Let the skies open

By the count of ten;

Engulf then,

Like the cap of a pen,

This awaiting hen.

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