Babies a very close encounter

A baby child a baby lamb
About the same weight
I think I am
Already feeling
a sense of dread
That either of these
could soon be dead

Carnivores the majority
though few do we see
Behind closed doors
the spirit kind
In the cavernous depths
of the sicker mind

Easter avails itself to be
A resonation of probity
A human baby
a baby sheep
A vegan would watch
either sleep
A carnivore
on the other hand
Looks at the lamb
And can’t understand

Why we imagine the baby sheep
Should not be killed
Who sows shall reap
Spirit cooking is all the rage
In the gutter and cellars
The stock in trade

For the sickly hordes
Who expect rewards
From an innocents blood
And The heavenly flood
So who might die
In this easter romp
The lamb ofcourse
With all the pomp

And majesty
Will be roasted and
The mint sauce all will understand
The infant babe
In certain quarters
Might be stewed
in its holy waters
A bloodless body drenched in wine
Might also die and be a sign

As for spirit cooking
Those gruesome fiends
It pushes their buttons
And the machines
who stand in the spotlight
Making their way
Through a sordid idyll
Of sick decay

Many observe but will not see
The baby lamb Who hopes to free
Itself of being eaten by carnivores
Who would not think, to walk on
All fours
They see the lamb as a sheep and they
Will expect to eat it right away.

The spirit cooks have a similar thought
In the rituals,bwhere they are brought
To eating the innocents flesh and be
Rewarded by longevity
For me its a sickness either way
Where both babies are forced to pay
Coerced by circumstances they
Must close their eyes and fly away
To the rainbow bridge and the summerland
And its vegans both don’t understand

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