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Oh, glorious cօck, in brine you bask,
a trophy of time, in a mason jar cask.
Once bold and alive, now a pickled delight,
a conversation piece for the curious night.
Who knew such greatness could fit in glass?
A monument to ego, preserved with sass.
Spices and vinegar, your eternal bed—
because who needs dignity when you’re jarred instead?
Here’s to you, jarred jewel, so proudly displayed,
a symbol of choices, perhaps poorly made.