A Pig a-Sail
by lewis poetchilde carroll
There was a Pig that lived above
An old and ruined Pump.
He ate his slop with joy and love
And shared his spot with a turtledove
Who nested in a scraggy glove.
The Pig thought naught of “jump.”
The sun would rule o’er lofty hill,
To the stowing of its rump,
As paper is ruled by ink and quill,
And duck is known by quack and bill,
From rise to fall and then to chill
As night did play its trump.
The night would offer peace and rest
To Pig and hill and Pump
In way of sleep unto its guest
By method proven and by its best
With pure intent to say, “Be blessed,
The sun will wake you up.”
But was it chance or was it fate?
—Upon the lovely hump.
Was it early or was it late?
From bumpkin or from magistrate?
Did hope or beacon calculate
The time was ripe for “jump”?
Thus came a day like any day
Above the ruined Pump,
When the Pig set out in his usual way
To stroll about and make survey
Of the hill from which he would never stray—
It was a lovely hump.
The Pig meandered, gazing the view,
His foot a-catch in a clump
Which tipped his balance a mite askew
And turned his thoughts to a woeful rue
Of his slipshod manner in rendezvous
With the steep side of the hump.
The Pig fought hard to stay upright
As gravity sought a dump.
The hill exacted a toll in his plight
And downward he bustled from his precious height
His legs disputing with all their might
As he was weighed with an awful “Ump!”
The speed accrued o’erreaching his legs
As he knew he had chanced to be “chump.”
His heft o’ertook his beaten pegs
And he rolled and bounced like loosened kegs
Till he launched to an arc as a cannonball begs
Then scrunch! upon the Pump.
The turtledove cooed and a lizard clapped
As the Pig found foot on the Pump.
A farmer saw and was nothing but rapt.
A squirrel was jealous of the Pig so apt.
The animals gathered and the Pig felt trapped
Upon the ruined Pump.
The animals cheered as the Pig looked down
From high upon the Pump.
“This is a day of great renown!”
“Do we dub him Artist or Tumbling Clown?”
“We will laud his name throughout the town!”
“The Pig who is so plump!”
A kindly mutt helped the Pig off
So he wouldn’t have to jump.
The farmer greeted with a bow and a doff.
The squirrel offered merely a scoff.
The animals promised a bountiful trough
To keep the Pig so plump.
The Pig regarded his every bruise
And every swelling lump
As what would wet bright eyes with dews
And spread abroad with fame and news
To lift a soul out of the mews
Of lonely troubling slump.
The Pig returned to his humble confine
Above the famous Pump.
He knew his feat deserved no shrine
For the moment it happed he did not assign.
Had he planned the event it may have gone fine
And would have been a jump.
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