The Chick Poem by Ilori Tomiwa

Light sounds of crack,
The egg drew uneven lines.
Holes were evident in successive minutes.
After much unpracticed effort,
The creature cringed forward.
The half broken shell forming a tilting cradle,
It let out a loud shril sound.
'What an ill wind that just blew me', it said.
'Welcome my child', its mother said.
'Mother, i feel cold', the chick retorted.
' You will get used to it' was the reply.
'We grow to get killed by our masters
but i no longer grudge them.'
'They also end up in a bigger master's hand.'

(c) ilori Oluwatomiwa