by Nick Gisburne
Erratic horses hinder my escape
And half a dozen piglets do not help
The tiny porkers, tied to me with tape
With every jolt or jiggle grunt and yelp
The posters, pasted high on every wall
Proclaim, “The Singing Piggies! Here! Today!”
The notion I would liberate them all
Seems less appealing now I’m on my way
We dash across a badly cobbled bridge
The carriage barrels blindly down the road
And as the panting horses crest a ridge
Triumphantly, their gallop can be slowed
The piggies’ song would make an angel cry
But all too soon their tender flesh will fry
