I sometimes take an inward glance
and ponder on the fickle chance
that made this living being me,
and not a pig, a goat or flea.
Could well have been a browsing cow
with little thought beyond what's now,
it's future ready carved in steaks
for hungry diner's dinner plates.
How glad I am that I am I,
and not some grubby household fly,
whose thoughts of wholesome gastric treats
are tit-bits from the refuse heaps,
doomed perhaps to end its days
choked to death by toxic sprays.
I'd really hate to end it all
squashed flat on someone's kitchen wall.
