Poem

Here Chick, Chick, Chick

Factory farm raised and led;
in the end, factory farm bled,
Rick, a chick, was yellow and red,
living in a cramped cage and fed.

It's Rick! the little chick said
as his beaten head again bled.
He blinked his eyes instead
while they also turned red.

I have my very own name,
said Rick, a little yellow chick.
It's Rick! I'm not to blame

if humans don't get the trick.

In his very beginning, Rick
was small, weak in frame,
not at all a worthy chick,
and unquestionably lame.

By feed and water and corn
little Rick the chick grew.
His keepers, never forlorn,
were a gleeful, happy crew.

I have my very own name,
said Rick, a little confined chick.
It's Rick! I'm not to blame
if humans dont' get the trick.

Rick wouldn't squeak or squawk
about the abuse he endured,
never thought to talk about
relatives ever penned and secured.

Then came the stormy night
when Rick and others fled.
Stepping hard with great might,
they escaped, and many wed.

I have my very own name,
said Rick, a little yellow chick.
It's Rick! I'm not to blame
if humans don't get the trick.

Of course, freedom couldn't last
with many humans close behind.
Rick and others had a past;
hands around them did wind.

Now all's quiet in the shed
where Rick and others bake,
for time's not long ahead
'til humans come and take.

I have my very own name,
said Rick, a little confined chick.
It's Rick! I'm not to blame
if humans don't get the trick.

http://www.helium.com/items/1855696-poetry-animal-cruelty

This poem does a great job of telling the story of what goes on in factory farms through the eyes of a chick which is why I chose it.              
- Samuel Bermudez