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Christmas Fare.

edited October 2014 in Writings

Christmas Fare.






Mud to the knees of his
wellies,


Coat tightly tied up with
string.


Peelings boiled in an old pot.


Pigs snorting round in a sty.


Feeling a lump in his throat
he cries,


Why have they got to die?”






If only his wife would eat
turkey,


roast pheasant or even duck
stew,


But bacon and pork are her
choice


a tradition she intends to
stick to.


Looking around with a sigh, he
cries,


Pigs have got feelings
too!”

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