A Battle of Conservation
The island shores run red with blood, As vermin stalk and kill their prey; A grisly, feather-strewn display, As flights are culled with deathly thud.
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
The island shores run red with blood, As vermin stalk and kill their prey; A grisly, feather-strewn display, As flights are culled with deathly thud.
Your body has a set of scales, To help to regulate the fat; Detecting where your weight is at, A backup as your leptin fails.
Walk in and put it all on red, You’ll win it all or loose your head; Your fate rests with that spinning disk, Are we