Her Way of Life

They say a shark swims to survive,
Bees gather pollen for numerous hives,
Baby can’t wait ‘till her mother arrives.
She grows up, but she still shakes hands with knives.

Rivers tumble the logs downstream,
Chemicals polish them up to a gleam,
Conveyors whisk them off to places unseen,
Flames and saws – death in the machine!

Oceans of tears roll down her cheek,
Blankets of plastic (so she’d fit in with the clique),
No longer will she be known as a geek.
Under the knife, they make her a freak.

Lessons are taught, especially for the old,
She started to melt, as the doctors foretold.
Tomorrow she’s scheduled for a remould,
But by the end of the night, her pulse is stone cold.

Candles, a priest and a hole in the ground,
They placed back the dirt and in the soil she drowned,
Her skin didn’t rot – to her it’s still bound.
Perfectly preserved, archaeologists found!


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