The Tiny Swine Trine




Thrice upon a time, three sons of a sow sallied forth to seek success. The begetter of the bantam bacon-bearers bellowed as they bade bye-bye, “Be brave, be bold, beware. A wily wolf walks in the wild, waylaying witless wanderers. Be on your guard against that guileful granny-gulper.“


One of the peewee porkers, hankering for hurried happiness, hauled hopeless hay to house himself. Then the heavy-breathing hooligan came hungering that way, hammered hard on that house door. When the puny piggy paid no mind, the hairy heel huffed all the house of hay away and helped himself to ham.


The second short shoat, low on luck and lacking lucidity, looked listlessly for lumber, then settled for a stack of sticks and shaped a shelter, supposing he was secure. Anon the air-blasting archenemy popped up, pretending peace. When the pint-sized pre-sausage protested, the pawed poser puffed the place to pieces and packed his paunch with pork.


That tiny trio’s third, a bitty boar but bright, bought bricks in bunches to build a brawny bastion to block the blustering blowhard. And though the hungry harasser harried the hamlet’s home with a hurricane of huffs, the hardy house held up. Livid, the large-lunged lawbreaker leaped aloft the lodging and clambered down the chimney to clutch the clever cob roller, but that small swine set fire below the saucepan to snare the savage sparerib stealer. The shortsighted sneak splashed inside and slowly simmered into a savory stew. Then the wise weiner-wonder washed his hands and wolfed it down.



For similar senselessness, see this.


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