They saw the boy, standing in the park
He looked at the others, feeling dark
He saw a dog, heard the lonely bark,
His heart was scarred, oh such a deep mark!
He stood alone, lonely and shy
The other boys, playing thief and spy
He looked up, at the dark, blue sky
And he saw, that pigs could fly!
"Look!" he shouted, loud and clear
His mind instilled, delighted with fear
The others came close, by and near
And followed his hand, to the sight so queer
The pigs were flying, in a neat little line
They flapped their wings, so white and fine
They were pink and chubby, all the nine
The boy wished to say, "They're all mine!"
He stretched out his hand, far and out
His mind had not even a trace of doubt
The others looked, not knowing what its about
And then they all gave a sudden shout
The boy had four legs, short and pink
They had changed, in the time of a blink
They did not know, what even to think
And then they smelt that horrible stink
The boy became small, he flew far and away
The curly pink tail, so happy, so gay
The boy finally happy, or as it may
He had finally found his friends, with who he could play.
Away they flew, in the dark and the blue
Where they were going he had no clue
Yet it was an experience, so entirely new
And so he went, as they flew and they flew.
Boredom kills. Rhyming is fun. :)
Being a kid is fun. :)
Writing childish poems about little pigs is even more fun. :)
Hehe.
Beautiful.
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