I strolled into a farmyard
On a lovely summer day
Grinning as I watched the goats
All playing in the hay
And as I strolled around the place
I couldn't help but think
Why do we say 'sweating like a pig
And need a drink? '
The pigs I know are sweatless
At least that's how it looks,
The only time they look too hot
Is as the bacon cooks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem