There Is a Supplication Point Between Child-Hens and Children

Each time I run into a heavy hen along the street,
I whisper a prayer to myself,
For the poor rooster
To not hatch a hawk instead of a fowl
To not lay stomach disorder
That'll not in a-year-time,
Grow into a pullet
To not be delivered of a second to one, but the first
To not be delivered of a substance
That'd end up poisoning the village
In this season of life,
We see child-hens
That are not to be sold
To factories producing eggs
For their eggs, if hatched, would pollute other hens.