Ode To The Chicken

A bit of stupidity that has been rolling around in my head since Saturday...
Ode To The Chicken
The chicken. O, suculent piece of white-meat. How you tempt me with your deliciocity. Although you were once covered in feathers, cuing and clucking like a mindless prairie creature, the Colonel has delivered you as a delicacy for my pallet. Fried in breading until you are extra crispy or baked golden brown with a lemon-pepper zing, you delight my taste-buds. Could I live without you? Yes, but why? To what end?
O, my chicken, you always rise early unwittingly waiting for your demise as you produce eggs for our enjoyment. You are such an intricate part of life, whether an unmoving bouillon cube to flavor otherwise boring hot water, or a source of feathers for a better night's sleep, you bring so much to our existence.
So, here's to you, you golden-fried, egg-producing, bouillon-flavoring, feather-giving marvel of God's great creation. You bock my world.