We the
chicks are love of every one,
wish
to grow into the proud hens.
Grown would
lay many-many eggs,
our
chicks will wander out of mesh.
No
need to tell, very well we know,
evil
eyes will catch as we would grow.
We will
wander, will follow our chicks,
gladly
watch, when food they’ll pick.
But
before it happens we will be picked,
into belly
of yours might have reached.
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