With My Deepest Apologies to William Blake*

Little chicken, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, & bid thee peck
At every little spot and speck;
Gave thee feathers of delight;
Gave thee tattoos big and bright;
Gave thee such a stylish tail,

Colored just like ginger ale?
Little chicken, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little chicken, I'll tell thee,
Little chicken, I'll tell thee:
I remember not his name,
My bad memory is my shame.
His aesthetic is a bit askew;
He painted all your feathers blue.
He put boots upon your feet,
I have to say, they're very neat.
Little chicken, I love thee!

Little chicken, I love thee!


*But I am an unreformed sucker for parodies of Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience