Classic Poem

If I were a pig and lived under a thatch
With nothing to do but gobble and scratch,
How nice it would be to look out now and then
And see the great winds blowing over the fen.

For pigs, though so greedy and ugly, are wise,
And see quite a lot with their funny slit-eyes —
Little soft breezes that shimmer and shine,
And winds like green oceans, all misty and fine.