A Christmas poem for you, my friends. Compliments of the season to you all.
A sequel to the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’
(The piggies think the wolf has been killed by landing in the hotpot bubbling away on their hearth. However ...)
A family of pigs, brothers three,
Were leaping around, Christmas Eve.
The wolf had been caught (or so they had thought).
From his huff and his puff, they were free.
Relieved at the end of their scare
They danced round the hearth, unaware
That in the hotpot was a wolf who was not
Fully cooked, but just medium rare.
As they went off to bed, closed the door,
From the pot there protruded a paw
Though more warm than he’d like, he’d not give up the fight
A poor sign for the porcine, for sure.
He’d wait until , then soon,
He planned by the light of the moon
To climb out of that pot, give those piggies a shock
And be gorging on trotters by .
But all of a sudden, his light
Was blocked out by a terrible sight.
A HUGE man with a beard down the chimney appeared.
Wolfie peed in the gravy with fright.
‘Ho ho ho,’ said the man, with such CHEER
That the wolf yelped (a coward, I fear)
‘I thought you got cooked at the end of the book.’
‘Not quite.’ Wolfie brushed off a tear.
The piggies awoke with a start.
Terror clutching at each little heart.
They crept into the room and peered through the gloom
(And here is the heartwarming part.)
Not believing their own piggy eyes
They stared at the scene in surprise.
The wolf, there with Santa, engaging in banter
And eating their home-made mince pies.
‘Oh, there you all are!’ Santa said.
‘I’m afraid it’s bad news. He’s not dead.
But now we’re all here, it’s the season of cheer
So why don’t we make friends instead?’
They shook trotters and paws, and drank wine.
Prematurely they sang Auld Lang Syne.
And the wolf, somewhat shaken, said he’d been mistaken
And would chase little lambsies next time.
|Wolfie has learned his lesson. Until, that is, he meets a little girl in the wood dressed in red .....|