Pointy the Pig
Pointy, the pig rider came around the corner with a screech.
He was sitting at the top of the zebra bowls, his whip was a reach.
Why does he always have to outdo the rest of us? Asked Mr. Mace.
Angry now because Poindy and the bowls were winning the race.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment