DEATH AT CHRISTMAS EVE
Chilly morns of December windy
Sunny noons and nights starry
Angels sing Holy X-mas nearly
Three pigs knew nothing newly
Did mate and sleep in pigsty
Happiness in thick mud is lucky
At X-mas eve pigs all the way
Saw strangely and a butterfly
And wished if they could fly
With such wings coloured fully
Hanging stars around houses shiny
And thought how lit it likely
Reached a dark hut stood humbly
“Jesus” the butcher slowly did pray
And his long knife straight and dry
Entering into their necks steady
One by one they died bloody
“Jesus” the butcher uttered happily.
