Already fallen plum-bloom stars the green <br />And apple-boughs as knarred as old toads' backs <br />Wear their small roses ere a rose is seen; <br />The building thrush watches old Job who stacks <br />The bright-peeled osiers on the sunny fence, <br />The pent sow grunts to hear him stumping by, <br />And tries to push the bolt and scamper thence, <br />But her ringed snout still keeps her to the sty. <br /> <br />Then out he lets her run; away she snorts <br />In bundling gallop for the cottage door, <br />With hungry hubbub begging crusts and orts, <br />Then like the whirlwind bumping round once more; <br />Nuzzling the dog, making the pullets run, <br />And sulky as a child when her play's done.<br /><br />Edmund Blunden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poor-man-s-pig/
