Eye On The Sty Poem by John Leroy Maxwell

I spent some time, one other day.. Out in the fields, the rural way..
Stayed with farmer, did farmer work.. Fed the Pigs, I did not shirk..
The Boars and Sows became my friend.. But Pigs they grunt,
there is no end.. Invite me, they did, at suppertime.. Into the trough,
the dipper mine.. To be like Pig, put feet right in.. Into the trough,
and grunt again.. They grunt right back, try understand.. Learn their
language, give helping hand.. Now and then one Boar did snort..
With louder grunt, I cut him short.. The louder grunt did do the trick..
King I became, of sloppy mix.. The Piglets, too, did give me a look..
And to their feed and grain betook.. They sometimes put up quite
a squeal.. But Pigs is Pigs, this how I feel..