Three farmers stand around and stare At the monstrosity looking up at them: Three legs crouched, the fourth but air Its white fur patched and standing up. The farmers stare and haw and hem, And dance the subject ’round: One says that they must kill it dead, Else the chickens won’t again be found. Another claims that it’s in pain, This strange and broken thing; Only in loss might there be gain — Best to take its neck and wring. The last declares it will be fed For it is not what’s left to them To decide what dies, whether and when, But to choose life here and now.
The world is filled with people trying And people living, and people dying The world is filled with worlds colliding People selling, people buying The world is filled with wheels still turning Past people with their houses burning Through all despair and endless yearning Over each and every threat unnerving Whether afraid, whether unswerving The world is filled with people trying And people falling, people rising Who am I to keep denying That I can do no different?