The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time…

Like the beginning of any nursery rhyme,

There were three little pigs.

One had a house of twigs,

Another made of brick,

And the last of hay, down in Eastwick.

We all know how the story goes:

A wolf comes along and he huffs and he blows.

The house of hay and the home of sticks

Both fall to wolf’s gastly tricks.

But what did we remember back in our youth?

The ending we knew is not the truth.

Yes, the wolf huffed and he puffed

He blew but not bluffed.

Rather than the memory of the joyous ending,

That for years we have been pretending

We must know what really happened.

The story’s innocence is truly blackened.

Once the wolf realized he had failed

He felt in his stomach, he had been impaled!

Ropes lassoed around his legs and feet

As the three little pigs began preparing to eat.

Oh what a feast they will host!

They raise their glasses to a toast.

Wack, wack! They chopped up their fiend,

Threw him in a pot and he was steamed.

The whole town came on this glorious day!

The skies turned blue and were no longer grey.

Oh how the tables have turned in this new story,

Because now the three little piggies go home with the glory.

Yes, wolves like to eat pork and bacon

But this wolf was greatly mistaken.

Although the piggies were little, he was misled

Because now they are eating him instead.

The End