"Food is bought, So is drink, by a sort of intuition, With no heed of waste or malnutrition. Lambs are slaughtered, calves are bled, That our young may be ill-fed. Fruit, nuts and cereals which might save man Scarce find a place in his dietic plan. In robbing birds of plumes and beasts of fur We, charges of inhumanity incur. Fed with flesh meats and clad in skins of beast, Life and art suffer, and our health not least. The price, not the art of our dress, Is the anxious concern of our Press Which will praise all that pays, But denies its great prize, To a beauty which won't advertise."