Were the lambs

Last yr complete 350,000 of us were put to death

clubbed or shot, hunters ad infinitum took away our breath

Close to our mothers, fictitious near in the snow

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we were but babes and we could not know

When initial we glimpsed the ships on the the deep cold

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we were unafraid, not thinking they'd be so bold

But onto the ice and done our environment the men strode

breaching our nursery, and incoming our relations fold

As they approached we looked on, unqualified to understand

the expressions on their faces, the weaponry in their hands

At first-year we didn't stir, but then the men toward us ran

it like greased lightning became a kill and we were the lambs

This was our prototypical revealing to humans, staffs and guns

as we looked up, they suddenly smitten us near their clubs

Some of us didn't die from the blows-we were one and only stunned

our whist immobile defeat as they skinned us, spilling our blood

Later, the parents or fixing babies who managed to survive

moved on the ice and burgundy snow, in disbelief, and cried

Grieving for the missing ones whose fur-less bodies lay so still

not wise if the human beings would be back, or if they'd had their fill...

To a future, where on earth "their fill" is departed and past

a promise to cut off the killing, an curse that will past.

If you would similar to to help, the Humane Society of the United States is a angelic launch.

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