Do you remember this one, Timmy, from a few years back?
You posted the following poem on TDE, but I felt there was another side to issue.
Doggerel
A bitch is born to suffer—
get stuffed, get big, and whelp;
eat shit, and raise a litter
without the top dog’s help.
She loathes her concrete kennel,
the scrum between her paws,
the shrieks, the stench—infernal!—
two hundred scrabbling claws.
And him? A weekend hunting
grouse with the yapping pack,
while she collapses panting
from his progeny’s attack.
They’ll bite the teats right off her!
Feeding time again?
Just let her find a feather
stuck to his muzzle. Men!
Emperors
Some birds are built for pleasure,
while some are made to wait;
but she gets all the leisure
when Emperors come to mate.
She drops her bundle quickly
passing it to her man,
who stands there looking sickly
because he knows she can.
And then she’s off to frolic
and eat her fill at sea,
while starved and melancholic
he wishes he were she.
He shuffles ‘round in darkness,
near-frozen while she’s swimmin’,
and in his wintry starkness
you can hear him mumblin’ - “women!”
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