Swine Poem by Kevin Maroney

He went up a hill, to gaze at it still,
yet moving it ran farther.
He topped the hill, with its sight was he filled,
but this wasn't the animal he'd come for.

At the apex, the joint of valley and mount,
did sit a grumpy pig with a disgusting wide snout.
It sniffed at the air like pig with much hair,
or such was the impression it did spare.

Not saved from the sight, the worst recollection,
of a similar being, under whose repression,
he'd lived and known to be such a bore,
one who'd jump in glee for the dirtiest hoar.

He had no class, a rotund monstrous beast,
and with great roaring abandon did feast.
Hocks and ears and pig snouts too,
for he had no restraint, even for those he be related to.

Perhaps a sloth is a better description.
to even the worst phrased question,
did he respond, so dull-witted,
in daring turned phrase, quick prose at best,
full of nothing more than empty epithets.

He hated David and its star,
from Hitler and Mussolini he was not far.
In fact, he stated with as much pride,
with great dirty mouth heartily opened wide.
For it was from the heart that he said these things,
to the cross he was opposed, instead wanting black wings.
No, that is wrong, to the red was he inclined,
to the depths of the earth in his home did he dwell.

The best part, I'll tell you soon,
'twas the greatest each day, a welcome boon.
This great beast who's seen in fun,
did believe his self to be worthy of the sun.
Indeed, he thought in his sty he was no disgrace,
but rather, he himself, the master race.