Kate, I think you said it all in your amazing ode.
If everybody were like you, no chicken would cross the road
to escape the squalid coops so common on a farm.
Instead they'd stay at home, lay eggs, content and safe from harm...
until one day some butcher man would sneak up with an ax
and make like Lizzie Borden when she gave out forty whacks.
The end would be so sudden that the chickens would not cluck.
They'd die before they realized they had run out of luck.
(Kate, your contribution to this thread was more than clever.
I'll write something just as good... if you can wait till never.
I'm proud my little ditty that began this conversation
might have served to trigger yours by way of inspiration.)
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