Elegy for Chicken Yoghurt

Farewell, Chickyog! O nourishing domain
And poison of our nation's nasty shits,
With all those floating crunchy sweary bits!
I fear we shall not know thy like again.
Perhaps thou hast attained thy worthy goal;
And yet I fear that with thy going hence
The blogomind will grow a bit more dense;
The internet will gain a sorry hole.

Still, better to part well than stay too long.
All yoghurt has, of course, its use-by date;
In Brighton too, oblivion must come.
Although the world continues so far wrong,
Thy lactose may foment a better state:
Thy spirit's giblets yet shall beard the scum.