What it does to a sow to be locked up

They love to root about of course
In The wild forests where
It’s a hogs main dreamscape
In the wind and rain they share
All the smells of the countryside
But locked in farrowing crates
Which is what farmers do to them
These ridiculous of traits

Is cruel and so short sighted
It’s ludicrousness and
Lacks
An honest understanding
Such anguish it attacks
The female who is indisposed for she
Feels mournful about prostration
And what is anxiety

The joy that should be in her life
The freedom of it all
Exalted by the forest vista
Where the wild souls call
Out her name the Tawny Owls
The Roe Deer and the Fox
It truly leads to such remorse
When the farmer locks

The cage and walks away
In one place a solitary she be
Neurotic and a worrier
She obsessively
Reminds herself the freedom
The bluebells and the wild
Feeling disconcerted
Waiting for her child

It’s intolerable behaviour
Without a genuine place
Born clean subjected sadly
Lost without a trace
No dump no straw no cleanliness
Aggravated by
Heat and dirt and negligence
And maggots where you lie

Stuck with ululation
Heaving breasts and sighs
Blubbering and whimpering
At what is your size
Food just thrown right at you
Bathed in salty tears
Farrowing crates are evil
Much more than it appears