Canada a producer of veal for human consumption

Born

they were born

and created to be

cows in a field

and to yield

honesty

but man was on hand

stepped up to the plate

stole the young babies

they had a date

with him

would they walk

not anymore

the veal crate

was built

they would shit on the floor

they would lie sort

of cross legged

in this small frame

degeneration the name of the game

heinousness viciousness

immoral stuff

veal the production

I’ve seen enough

they are abandoned

to vile cruelty

fed on milky slop

their flesh has to be

creamy and white

or the cannibal hordes

won’t buy it, won’t try it

won’t get their rewards

chained by the neck

unable to stand

convicted of nothing

depraved out of hand

these poor little mites

in an agonized state

callously driven

and that is their fate

remorseless they sit, fall

squirm all the day

the chain bites their necks

they are made to pay

just a blue bucket

with slop they can taste

maligned by the farmer

whose always grim faced

he should be for Hathor

is now on his case

sleep will be random

the gods they will trace

his patterns of life

for they are going to be

paying him back

for this insanity

the worst intentions

exacted upon

a baby who they stole

his mother was gone

she bellowed she cried out

she wanted her so

but they needed her flesh

and she had to grow

Nemesis listens

and quietly hangs fire

the gods are apparently

there to desire

these farmers who spread

ailing filth everywhere

will never escape

their blood they will share

vengeance will come for them

that appears true

how they have treated these babies

all through

they struggled in agony

all their short life

and died at the hands

of the man with the knife