Six years ago Swine flu visited our farm, 
Forcing Virginia Hambone to stand firm
Against the public use of mucky troughs,
Which was causing the trots and coughs.

Pigs were ordered to remain in their styes
And baptize their trotters to avert demise.
Sty-to-sty sales sows solicited salty swill.
A barn was set for the expired and the ill.

Presently wild boar sauntered by, in thrall
To the intoxicating scent of nothing at all.
Unusual not to spot that superior species
Of Hogwash in their finer forms of feces.

Now the suaver swine was to vent spleen:
“Quarantine is just a breeding scheme.”
They yearned to wander the fields again,
To grunt in unison and filthen the terrain.

The Council said it was still testing drugs,
So pigs pigging out must wear anal plugs. 
“The virus is passed on through the rear;
You will save your bacon if you adhere.” 

They squealed as akin to human protestors 
And met in sheds to abuse the Councilors.
To no avail!  Inside the butt was fit a bung:
They could now only wallow in oral dung.

Eventually, this beastly disease flew away
And a boom of piglets scuttled out to play.
Adults oinked back into the ways of afore,
While uncivilized boar was seen no more.

Saul Huggins reports he has no experience in the arts, but he obviously loves to write satirical poetry that rhymes.

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