Sub-zero Saga

When the mercury plummets past thirty below,
it brings back poignant memories,
before we were blessed with central heat's flow,
when all that's exposed could well freeze.

One evening the weather man's urgent warning,
minus forty, yes, forty it foretold.
We didn't dare wait until morning,
for our poultry would die in the cold.

The poultry house not insulated,
nor heated any conventional way,
so, harsh sounding the facts, we used the axe,
to spare them freezing to death before day.

The flock, one by one, their slaying was done;
were dispatched, plucked, drawn, and stored.
Though seeming contradictory, in a way , victory,
instead of loss, our efforts' reward.

So, in their frozen state, to be eaten did wait,
and we know that from suffering spared.
Our freezer was sate; from its contents we ate;
by our diligence, meals later shared.

A post script to this, an amusing miss,
a duck and a hen, fearful, hid.
through the night's slaughter, surprising, not ought to,
live out the winter but did.

You would say, "Forty below!"--believe it--No!
You might even foolishly make bets.
Survival so rare; it happened, I'd swear;
they lived several years as our pets.