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POEMS

 
The following poems have all been written by Jenny Moxham. 

They Will Never Know A Spring 
Autumn Grey 
I Only Saw Her For An Instant 
Battery Hen 
Freedom For Birds 
It Just Isn't Fair 
What is Baby Drinking? 

 
 
They Will Never Know A Spring
As I walked along the street today
My heart began to sing
For I passed a mass of daffodils
And I felt the joy of Spring.
...
I marvelled at the colours
Of the flowers everywhere
And it filled my heart with pleasure
To see trees no longer bare.
...
Then I thought of all the animals
And no more my heart could sing
And I ached for all the millions
Who will never know a Spring.
...
I thought of pigs in factory farms
In squalid, filthy pens
And I thought of spider-ridden sheds
Stacked up with battery hens.
...
They'll never see a ray of sun
Their hearts will never sing
Locked away from life and beauty
They will never know a spring.
 ...
 
Autumn Grey
It's so heavenly in Autumn when the world is all aglow,
With russet gold and amber leaves that fall like gentle snow.
And when the ground is carpeted in brilliant Autumn gold,
It's like a new and wondrous world too glorius to behold.
...
But there's a place in Autumn where no colour's ever seen,
Where red and gold and russet leaves have never, ever been.
A place that man invented without yellow, gold or red,
Where those who dwell within it's walls soon wish that they were dead.
...
The factory farm in Autumn is a bleak and dismal grey;
Grey concrete, steel and cobwebs, each dark and gloomy day.
And every pig imprisoned here shows fear in her face
For the workers beat them savagely within this brutal place.
...
And tethered pigs have metal chains embedded in their necks,
Whilst others, locked in narrow stalls, can't even take two steps.
And sows can barely stand because of lesions on their feet,
And stressed and panic-stricken pigs are too afraid to eat.
...
Inside these walls they'll never see a gaily coloured leaf;
Instead of joy they'll only feel an all-pervading grief;
They'll never know the glory of a wondrous Autumn day,
Condemned, instead, to languish in a tragic world of grey.
...
 
I Only Saw Her For An Instant
I only saw her for an instant
As the cattle truck sped by
Yet that fleeting, brief encounter
Was enough to make me cry.
...
What struck me was her dignity.
So regal! Head held high;
And I cried because I knew the way,
Too soon, she'd surely die.
...
She looked every inch a lady;
So deserving of respect.
The brutal, bloody fate in store
I prayed she'd not suspect.
...
She'd never harmed a living soul
Yet hands unfit to touch her,
Would soon transform her regal form
And beat and bruise and clutch her.
...
For her there'd be no comfort
As the 'final hour' drew near;
No loving, tender touch
To make it easier to bear.
...
Instead she'd see the terror
In the frantic, fear-filled eyes
Of the ones who went before her.
Then their last blood-curdling cries.
...
What cruel, unjust and callous world
To break this gentle heart!
Eyes glazed with fear, my lovely queen
Would soon be ripped apart.
...
Battery Hen
Can you imagine how I feel
Condemned to life within a place,
Where I cannot ever take a step
Because there is no space?
...
Can you imagine how I'm aching;
How I long to flap my wings?
I've swollen feet and knee joints
And the pain debeaking brings.
...
Each day's a living nightmare
Of uninterrupted pain,
For my feather-pecking cell mates
Have already gone insane.
...
Each day seems an eternity,
Yet one more day to dread.
I've runny sores and tumours
And I wish that I were dead.
...
And I wonder if, at breakfast,
With my egg upon your plate,
You ever think about me
Or my cruel and tragic fate.
...
And when your breakfast's over
And you toss away my shell
Do you realise that the cost to me
Was one whole day in hell?
 
Freedom For Birds
A tall forest tree is a cockatoo's home
So why must I stay in this cage all alone?
I'm bored, sad and lonely with nothing to do,
Each day is the same with the very same view.
...
I watch the birds soaring high over the trees,
And I long to fly with them aloft on the breeze,
Seeing new places each wondrous new day,
Swirling and twirling in glorious play.
...
Just one week ago a stranger passed by
She saw me and knew that a bird longs to fly.
She asked if you'd think about setting me free,
You said, 'This bird's special' and wouldn't agree.
...
Well, if I am 'special' please think how I feel,
I'm not a stuffed toy I'm alive and I'm real.
I'm not made of stone I have feelings like you,
Life's not just for humans; this world is mine too.
...
So now I am hoping and praying you'll see,
That to love a thing truly you must set it free,
For it matters not whether you're big or you're small,
A life without freedom is no life at all.
 
It Just Isn't Fair
The rain falls in torrents,
The icy winds blow,
But the sheep in the paddock
Have no place to go.
...
No warm barn for shelter.
No bushes ... no trees,
Just a bare windswept plain
Where they shiver and freeze.
...
They've been robbed of their coats,
They've been shaven and shorn,
Bedraggled and cold
The sheep huddle folorn.
...
They're chilled to the bone
In the bitter cold rain.
They're freezing to death
On this cold, windswept plain.
...
But folk in the city
Share none of their woes,
They're decked out in wool
From their head to their toes.
...
Wool jumpers, wool jackets
Wool hats on their heads.
In their homes they've wool carpets,
Wool rugs on their beds.
...
'Neath warm woollen blankets
They blissfully sleep,
Never giving a thought
To the cold forlorn sheep.
...
Whose coats have been stolen
For humans to wear.
Oh why can't they see
That it just isn't fair?
 
What is Baby Drinking?
"What is baby drinking?"
(He'd been watching for a while).
'He's drinking Mother's milk,' she answered
Sweetly with a smile.
...
'What is milk?' the child enquired,
'I'd really like to know.'
'Why, milk's a special baby food
That makes a baby grow.'
...
She poured milk from a carton
And sipped her cup of tea.
The carton showed a picture
Of a cow beneath a tree.
...
His little brow was furrowed
As he watched his baby brother,
Then all at once he cried, 'I see!
'That cow must be your mother.'
...
'Oh, you're a funny little man
To think a cow's my mother!
Whatever gave you such a thought
From watching baby brother?'
...
'I saw you drink her baby milk
So where then is her baby?
And why do you drink baby's milk
When you're a full grown lady?'
...
'The farmer killed  her baby calf
Then took it's milk,' said she
So I could have some baby milk
To put into my tea.
...
And as she spoke these words to him
She realised what she'd said,
And thought about the mother cow
Her little babe now dead.
...
She felt the anguish of the cow
Her baby snatched away.
She felt the fear of the calf
Upon that fateful day.
...
And looking down at her sweet babe
Secure in her embrace,
She knew the cow no more could gaze
In her sweet baby's face.
...
So then and there she made a vow
To never more partake
In killing calves and taking milk
That isn't ours to take.
...
Her little child had made her see
As clearly as could be
That cows' milk is for baby calves
And Not for you and me.