King Of The Mud Poem by Micron Jan

In the corner of the field, there it lies,
A big hairy pig with mud on its eyes.
We tiptoe close, it doesn't budge,
Just snorts and dozes—won't hold a grudge.

We rub its back, all gentle and slow,
It snuffles a bit, then refuses to show
Any interest in humans at all,
Until—suddenly! —it launches its brawl.

A tiny snort! A wiggle! Mud flies around,
Landing on boots, hats, even the ground!
Headbutt! It bumps my knee with glee,
Snout in my pocket? "Snack for me! "

Then—oops! —it nudges my friend with a shove,
And SPLASH! They topple straight into mud above.
Boots sliding, arms flailing, shoes in the air,
This pig's mud-storm is beyond all repair.

We surrender, laughing, muddy from head to toe,
While the pig lies triumphant in its mucky throne.
Big, hairy, messy, chaos-bringer supreme,
All hail the pig! King of Mud and Extreme!