This is my quatrain poem on caged pig farming.

It’s terrible being farmed
Your always getting harmed,
The flickering old lamp
Illuminates the damp.

My feet are always filled of pain
Cause they feed us full of grain,
To make us big, fat and round
To a horrible death we are bound.

The shallow farmer doesn’t care
Because he doesn’t live in here,
We will soon be killed for bacon
For the money he’ll be maken.

For goodness sake I’m a pig
I’m made to roam and dig,
For its sun I want to see,
So someone please set me free.