Upon this bone I make my wish
For toys or clothes or food delish.
For this is the time, I'll be victor
Not my sister, that's for sure
Thrice before she has pulled to glee
She is smaller, weaker and younger than me!
I grab a hold, my victory clear
And close my eyes, a snap to hear
I pull with might and bone does split
We fall apart; I check my bit
Oh no! Not fair! Again, it is she!
"This bone," I say, "it can not be!"
Alas once more, I suffer defeat.
Until the next chicken that we eat.
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