Once upon a time there were three little pigs,
each one of them did all kinds of jigs –
they dashed about and leaped and pranced
and took it in turns as each one of them danced,
until the farmer came with his daughter
to chose a pig who was ready for slaughter,
“Which one shall we choose?” he asked his girl,
who pointed to the pig whose tail didn’t curl.
“I’ll collect him tomorrow and take him away.”
The three little pigs gulped, but only one did sway.
“There’s not much time,” said the three little pigs
who loved to dance and prance and do little jigs.
But that seemed a long time ago, and this was right now
The pig with the straight tail wished he was a cow –
or a sheep or a hen, even a lamb –
not nice and plump and potentially ham.
He was interrupted by one pig who said,
“Don’t worry little brother, just keep your head!”
“At least until tomorrow,” said the other as a joke,
but as soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t spoke.
“I’m only teasing, you won’t come to any harm,
and when it gets dark we’ll all leave this dreadful farm.”
They waited for nightfall to make their escape
each one of them laughing at their huge jape,
which was back in the pigsty where they’d left behind
a surprise for the farmer, sure he would find –
three little blankets covering three bales of hay
placed for his visit the very next day.
Searching, he couldn’t see the pigs anywhere,
storming out of the sty, nearly pulling out his hair.
He wanted to huff and puff till he blew their house down
Instead he stomped on his cap with a huge frown.
The three little pigs danced over hill and dale,
all because of the little pig; the one with the straightest tail!