We stand and watch, faith almost wavering,
hunger looking out of childish eyes,
daddy so tall, holding the frightened thing,
head on the block just as the hatchet flies,
falling… fallen by the empty pen,
taking the longest count, as red wings rise,
free at last, and we are saved again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sunday roast, free range chicken, nothing like it! !