The Winged Pig

I think that I shall never see A sight as strange as a flying pig . A winged pig that snout is sky-wised pushed Against the earth’ fantastic slopping roundness A winged pig who may fly all day, And lifts whimsicality toward higher climes; A pig that flutters in the icy air A flap of wings and oinking there ; Upon whose flight our imagination ascend Our imitations in inward horizon up-sweeps logic . Fall guys like me write poems, But only metaphors like flying pigs Can rise in ink stained skies and barnstorm the very gates of eternity with winged couplets.