Storm Pigs

When the wind was a whistle of wolf-breath,

Whispering under the door,

And each gust was the tearing of claws at the air,

Each squall was a deep-throated roar,

Three little pigs sat huddled inside,

Their nerves like straw – wispy thin.

And their hearts beat as quick as the rattle of sticks

As the storm bellowed out ‘Let me in!’

 

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One Comment to “Storm Pigs”

  1. I meant to comment as soon as I read Storm Pigs, but…..,I was too busy trying to write an ending to it!. I know, what a cheek!. The truth is, I now realise that it has it’s ending, and therefore doesn’t my input!!. I absolutely loved this poem.

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