A Pig is a Pig
"Come home with me," said the prodigal son.
"We'll sing and dance and have lots of fun.
We'll wine and dine with women and song.
You'll forget you're a pig before very long."
So the pig slipped out while mamma was asleep,
Shook off the mud from the mire so deep.
Around his neck was a bow so big,
He's gonna show the world a pig's not a pig!
With his snout in the air he trotted along
With the prodigal son, who was singin' a song.
It must be great to be a rich man's son.
He would surely find out 'fore the day was done.
It didn't take him long to realize his mistake–
He'd been scrubbed and rubbed 'til his muscles ached!
He squealed when they put a gold ring in his nose
And winced with pain when they trimmed his toes.
He sat at the table on a stool so high
A bib 'round his neck and a fork to try,
While the prodigal son, in his lovely robe,
Kept feeding his face, so glad to be home!
When the meat came around, the pig gave a moan.
It looked too much like a kind of his own.
He jumped from his chair with a grunt and a groan,
Darted through the door and headed for home.
His four little feet made the dust ride high,
For he didn't stop till he reached that sty!
It's what's on the inside that counts, my friend,
For a pig is a pig to the very end!
–Evelyn C. Sanders