I Shall Always Wear Pink Poem by Ernestine Northover

Petronella the Pig, quickly tried on her wig.
‘What a picture, I look’, she exclaimed, and partook,
of a large glass of wine, which tasted quite divine.

Her friend, Loretta Lamb, who could always dress glam,
was offered a wee taste, but being in no haste,
to drink before lunch, said she’d later sip punch.

With bold make-up and smiles, the two pals in smart styles,
paraded through the day, up and down the walkway,
and caused lots of weird frowns in their rich satin gowns.

‘I shall always wear pink’ Pig said, giving a wink.
And Lamb’s lovely in white, well more cream, not white, quite.
And my hair must be blonde when I meet the beau monde.

With an Oink and a Baa, they both then travelled far.
Famous without a doubt, and the people would shout,
waving madly their hands, far from Pig's home farm lands.

They very soon became bored, for they’d toured and they’d toured.
Now home was enticing, fame’s worth sacrificing.
Bold decisions were made, they’ll forget the brocade.

Back now both are content, accolades were not meant
to be. A pig’s a pig, rosy, cuddly and big,
and a Lamb’s is just cute, in her warm woollen suit.