Daddy filled the pen with them. 

There were so many white as lambs of sin. 

Written red in their fur as brains fell in. 

They piled up as the children of men;

Taken before conception showed;

The fruit of life in a womb un-hoed.

Marred previously of breathe;

As tiny noses flickered, twitched;

Longing for the world’s last itch. 

And the birds of black circle above;

Waiting to pluck the eyes of a tiny head;

They never stop screaming when they should be dead.

It seems that none could be as cruel;

As the father of this fool. 

A child of nine;

Learning in her prime; 

Of the world in which death doth rule. 

Soft fur as babes soon to decay;

Sweet flesh; tender;

After slaughter, none could mend her. 

Innocence taken away;

From a child in a single day;

But this day she did not flinch.

She threw the bodies in a ditch;

And watched as Daddy took up a hoe;

To burry the rabbits in the snow.