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Imagine a Bullock
A poem by Rex Tyler (rex@cooksdelight.co.uk) Source: www.cooksdelight.co.uk |
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Imagine a Bullock led into a truck Out of some paddock, out of the muck I knew as my home which seemed to be far From the field we just left to the old abbatoir It just isn't pleasure knowing the score Those on this truck I won't see anymore Its slaughterhouse time I peer out of the slits Reminded of grass and those cruel little twits Of those wild plants that kind of sweetened my breath But now I know only too well, I face death At the hands of some man With the ugliest eyes Big hairy fingers and very fat thighs Who prods me, it hurts then his pistol, I see Badbye to you all, I am gone, my soul's free To look back in earnest Freed from the space My huge hairy body my sad sleepy face Which hangs from a chain As they slit my throat wide And a torrent of blood Washes over the side On that man with the thighs 0f considerable size I watch disbelieving all I can see For I'm just a soul In the ether I be A spirit, a gem in the wink of ONE eye I lost all the pain it is gone Now I sigh! One more look at my carcass It swings on the hook Looking horribly empty Behold the great book is closed, my life's over a short interlude Where I was not given wild natural food So aware of the need But relieved in a way To be free a poor soul in the ether Today |