Three Little Pigs

March 27, 2009
By Forrest Evans BRONZE, Ft. Mitchell, Kentucky
Forrest Evans BRONZE, Ft. Mitchell, Kentucky
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The three little pigs went their separate ways,
Journeying for many days,
Summer passed and so did fall,
The first pig built a house of straw,
It soon became infested with ticks,
The second built a house of sticks,
It kept him warm through the winter,
Though he received many a splinter,
The third one built a house of bricks,
‘Twas stronger than the straw and sticks,
But could not be built by one alone,
So sadly he let out a groan,
A dark grey wolf then came along,
Who did seek to do them wrong,
The wolf puffed up and let loose a wind,
That a frightened pig did send,
Quickly fleeing far away,
In hopes to live another day,
To his brother’s house he came,
And shared his story and his shame,
His brother pig then gave him aid,
The wolf came and they were afraid,
He blew upon the house of sticks,
to send them ‘cross the river Styx,
And when the house was blown apart,
As if by some tremendous fart,
They flew far and they flew wide,
And at their brother’s house did hide,
It was unfinished but together,
They endured the cold wet weather,
And finished with the house of bricks,
Stronger than straw and stronger than sticks,
And when the wolf did come along,
He faced not one pig but a throng,
The labor of their work was seen,
For though the wolf was tough and mean,
When those thick red bricks of stone,
Were viciously and madly blown,
The dark grey wolf began to flinch,
For it moved not a single inch,
He came up with a nasty plan,
Though from his efforts he looked wan,
He scaled the house up to the roof,
And as he stood high and aloof,
With his yellow slitted eye,
He upon the roof did spy,
Something that was strong and stony,
A tall and thick and wide chimney,
The brothers on the roof heard steps,
And a cauldron they did schlep,
So into their humble home,
The wolf could ne’er hope to roam,
The wolf came to the smoking flue,
And his fate he never knew,
For while climbing into the chimney tall,
He inside did quickly fall,
And through the chimney made of stone,
He was roughly pitched and thrown,
He landed on the fireplace,
Scorching his cadaverous face,
His furry pants he did soil,
When his skin began to boil,
In the pigs trap he was caught,
In a fiery boiling pot,
And in that cauldron he did die,
Though he was strong and fast and sly,
Together the pigs had conquered him,
And on that night they ate his limbs.

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