PORKY-FACED PIGS THAT EAT MY FLOWERS

PORKY-FACED PIGS
THAT EAT MY FLOWERS

At six o’clock this morning,
I heard my tulips scream,
I peeped between the curtains,
And thought it was a dream.

A dozen porky faces,
Were snuffling through my beds,
With daisies in their trotters,
And roses on their heads.

The biggest ate a lily,
Then climbed into my chair,
Another found my pansies,
And swallowed every pair.

One sat inside the birdbath,
With petals on her nose,
She washed her muddy bottom,
Then polished off a rose.

I ran outside in slippers,
And waved my garden broom,
They only grinned and carried on,
Devouring every bloom.

I shouted, “Leave my flowers!”
Their leader raised her chin,
“We’re gardening inspectors,
Your dahlias are too thin.”

My dog was meant to chase them,
Instead he joined their game,
He rolled among the marigolds,
The little dog of shame.

They ate the reds and yellows,
They chewed the pinks and blues,
Then burped a tiny rainbow,
That landed on my shoes.

I planted plastic flowers,
And locked my garden gate,
Certain those greedy porky pigs,
Had eaten their last plate.

But when I woke next morning,
My plastic blooms were gone,
Those porky-faced pigs had eaten them—
Then carried the flowerpots on.