Here you will find the Poem The Poor Man's Pig of poet Edmund Blunden
Already fallen plum-bloom stars the green And apple-boughs as knarred as old toads' backs Wear their small roses ere a rose is seen; The building thrush watches old Job who stacks The bright-peeled osiers on the sunny fence, The pent sow grunts to hear him stumping by, And tries to push the bolt and scamper thence, But her ringed snout still keeps her to the sty. Then out he lets her run; away she snorts In bundling gallop for the cottage door, With hungry hubbub begging crusts and orts, Then like the whirlwind bumping round once more; Nuzzling the dog, making the pullets run, And sulky as a child when her play's done.
