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"Tina's Birthday" A pig is such a wondrous thing, And though bereft of feathered wing, Can glide and swoop upon it's will, (it must be something in it's swill.) And when we look upon this beast, Upon whom which we often feast, We dream of bacon, ham, and pork, Of sausage speared upon the fork, But next time that you scoff the sow, Think not of fowl, or lamb, or cow, But whether pig if left to live, Could evolve into something with, Amazing plumage snout to toe, Able of flight if left to grow, There is a chance if left to time, That pigs could soar and bank and climb, Control our airspace, nest in trees, From desert plain to Pyrenees, And then, perhaps, if left to be, Develop fins and roam the sea. But wait a mo! And get a grip! We must be on some porcine trip, To ever think of porky pig, Consuming acorns on the twig. I'll try to bring you down to earth - And spell it out for what it's worth...... It's like pretending that your age, Is static like an unturned page. You'll not revisit twenty one, (besides, how to explain your son?) You're getting older every year, Not like fine wine but home-made beer, But if there is eternal youth, And in this there may be some truth, You may discover how to stay, Forever younger every day, And if you do please tell us too, So we may be "a teen" like you. But in the meantime just resort, To every year just adding nought, Because you know we can still lie, And folks will think that PIGS CAN FLY! |