An Epitaph to a House Hen | version finale

Look:here lies a house hen
Made by male cook in his den
She cooked for men when alive
Now in big rooms she will thrive
Served as a dish on a tray
Adored be by folk she may
She did not plan such a treat
Her breast is stuffed with forcemeat
Hiding some truth of herself
Her liver, her body pelf
Her drumsticks - two thighs of bliss
Now rests in heavenly peace