50 million

BONSON WOOD GAME FARM BRIDGEWATER SOMERSET

One imagines
farms of beautiful birds
Where millions of them
are raised each year
Sheds of Pheasants
and partridges
Bedlam and chaos
from ear to ear

Disharmony everywhere
simply no order
Slatternly messy and vile
A roughhouse of violence
And impetuosity
Really it feels
off the dial

Noisy and whooping
and screaming
Really it’s no place to be
An unwarranted
unfounded existence
Demonstrating
real sophistry

Packed into cages for ages
Females attacked everyday
Raped of their feathers
And bodily skin
No duty of care
Anyway

It is
gender discrimination
Allowing the females
to be
Raped on the spot
to be injured a lot
When they should
have the capacity

To prevent female birds
getting injured
And prevent
other birds being harmed
Hundreds were being
found dead in their cages
Hardly a picture, thats charmed

Anyone caught
in the clutches
Neglect it’s a reason
I’d say
So many victims
Blighted and thwarted
And actually just thrown away

The arrogance
that becomes normal
Too many birds
in one space
Causes the most mental issues abroad
Farming it’s just a disgrace

And what is the outcome
pray tell me
These beautiful birds
all we do
Is release them
and see them shot out of the sky
By the monsters
who don’t have a clue

Life has become one great horror
Veracity lost in the race
It is unembroidered
it is unaffected
It is unpretentious
it’s true

The evil is clearly so rampant
Effortlessly we proclaim
Creation and life force
And the will to be whole
Is one little part of the game

Wiping out realisation
Identities lost in a way
A striking likeness
to hell of a being
An unflattering portrait at play

Sinking as we do
into the great pit
Where millions of lives
now are lost
Beautiful elegant pheasants
their colours
Their heartbeats
their tiny souls tossed

Into the maelstrom of shooting
Wiped out and removed from the sky
And it’s all just about
the infusion of being
Ahead of another
vile guy

Having ones eye on a target
A life doomed before
it’s time
This is the footprint
we leave for our children
As one after another
they climb

On the wind
to be somewhere wings
to be free
Lifting their bodies
wanting to see
High in the heavens far far aWay
But caught by the lead
that just makes them pay

Spiralling downwards
hitting the ground
In the blood and the guts
and the death
We expound
Our thoughts and our love for the
Sport of the king
Who can pick up his gun
And just do anything

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