Puffed up she was,
She deemed herself a rose.
Ailment she had,
Though it doesn’t seem so bad.
The universe, it was excessively wide,
It doesn’t seem to be her hide.
She was standing there on behalf of all her comrades.
Objectified they were.
She fought for their precious fur.
They had a severe cold,
But their hands shivered and dissolved.
Their voice was fainting,
It was meant to be a painting.
They were muffled,
Blindfolded, and even deafened.
They objectified them.
They accepted that,
But she was standing there to change that hat.
The coverlet was very cold,
She wanted to set them free as soon as she could.
That awkward position disturbed her!
But no one wore her fur.
They thought the pain was slight,
Though she thought they had to unite!
In her presentiment, everything was dire,
However no one had that desire.
Could she extinguish that fire?
They waved and clapped but didn’t help her.
In frenzied and painful agitation, she screamed,
That was not her dream.
She felt girthed!
It was their fault, as they didn’t change that bolt.
They fastened it instead,
So they chose to be objectified until they are dead.