Nature’s undertaker and cleaner of bones.
Making a meal of your vocation,
You gather your tokens from The Reaper’s table,
Peck by peck, a dissection by rip saw.
Meat, by any other name, could taste no sweeter,
And yet so tainted by grim mortality.
Hopping with glee filled anticipation,
Fussing and flapping in joyous applause.
Your cacophony draws kin to the murder,
An excitement of black comedy.
A collective destruction of flesh and sinew,
Delight in this carrion carry-on.