I ate your brother the other morn
He was rather runny, being yet unborn.
A circle of white with that oozing yellow
A breakfast mess – that unhatched fellow.
But you are tastier, with flesh and meat
A breast and wings and drumstick feet,
Oven-broiled, my favorite way
Especially with some chardonnay,
With gravy and the spuds a-steaming
A heavenly feast, I must be dreaming.
When you were born, your mother clucked
But in the end: man, were you plucked.