Living Graves
by George Bernard
Shaw
(1856-1950)
We are the living graves of
murdered beasts
Slaughtered to satisfy our
appetites
We never pause to wonder at our
feasts
If kine, like men, can possibly
have rights
We pray on Sundays that we might
have light
To guide our footsteps on the path
we tread
We’re sick of war - we do not want
to fight -
The thought of it now fills our
heart with dread.
And yet - we gorge ourselves upon
the dead!
Like carrion crows we live and feed
on meat,
Regardless of the suffering and
pain
We cause by doing so. If thus we
treat
Defenseless animals for sport or
gain,
How can we hope in this world to
attain
The peace we say we are so anxious
for?
Your question and comments are welcome
