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What
can you say about a chicken with a heart of gold that
hasn't already been said? True, no poetry has probably
been written for her, although, looking at those beautiful
black eyes of hers, it astounds me that more hasn't been
done to celebrate her beauty. Each feather is perfectly
formed, clean and crisp and laid just so. She struts about
and avoids the gossip in the background; life is too short
for that nonsense. She has things to do.
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