I see you little chicken wings
Sitting upon my plate
I know your little destinies
Your dreaded, deadly fate
You tender, tasty little morsels
Your bones will be picked clean
I will consume you, one by one
Until my appetite’s appeased
Yet in a dream, I see you running
Zooming across the plains
Two drumsticks, at mach speed
Dust following your trail
A pile of bones, now stacked high
An empty plate reveals
One by one, consumed you were
A succulent, tasty meal
Logan M. Wolf
Originally written March 1, 2011
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