If I had a different life to live this would be the foolish one-- to root, hog, sleep and procreate. Always across my mud hole I see the farmer waiting for my size to grow, as he leans close up upon his rake. I do not even want to be the farmer nor the wife whose pig is well done, but the stranger passing by out of curiosity and anxious to get away from the smell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY - 1918 by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS TO SARAH TAYLOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ON THE LIFE OF MAN by FRANCIS BEAUMONT IN MEMORY OF MY DEAR GRANDCHILD ELIZABETH .. WHO DECEASED 1665 by ANNE BRADSTREET THE SONG OF THE BEASTS by RUPERT BROOKE BIRD MINSTRELS by GRACE E. BUSH PALAMON AND ARCITE, OR THE KNIGHT'S TALE: BOOK 3 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |