Searching in closets and under the bed,
I will find what put the fear in her head.
It can’t escape me, why even try?
I will catch it if it runs or flies.
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© 2009 – 2015, Tim Boothby. All rights reserved.
The trooper went home from bloody war
and tarried at last in a tavern town
he knew exactly what he was looking for
a pig for a feast and for his wife a new gown.
A farthing paid he for a sassy young swine,
five more bought him a bonny blue dress.
At a tavern he found an ale or nine,
And out the door he went, a terrible mess.
Not a farthing had he for bath or bed,
so to an alley did he crawl and fall
with gown and pig he slept like the dead,
a wonder to see was he to one and all.
Morning came, sore, cold and blinded by ale,
but who was behind him so still and warm?
He wearily rolled and stared and paled
at a pig in gown that snored like a storm.
A shadow fell close, his dear lady wife,
“I see,” said she and “Oh, what a bother,”
And words that swore him from drink for life,
“Children,” said she, “Come greet your father.”
© 2009, Tim Boothby. All rights reserved.