This division must end.
Again I'm forced to amputate
the chicken's limb; slit the joint,
clip the heart, snip wing from back,
...
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Way cool! I've always suspected that my kitchen shears has a glorious imagination like this! But I can never seem to find her when I really need her. Do you think she is hiding from me?
Imaginations nicely put into words. Loved the poem.