The Three Pigs, Are Not Mine. (The Three Little Pigs Revised)

Your three pigs, all small roundabout figures

Narcisstic parasites that do all but quiver. 

Your three pigs, are found to be dead. It is not my fault, I did not make their bed.

I told you once, twice, now thrice.

I had new neighbors,  I greet the newcomers wholeheartedly I may add.

It was just a tad of knock, when they all sneered

"We have no answer for your kind here".

I huffed and puffed, but blew no house down.

I bellowed and blowed but no straws were bound.

I wanted to be nice, so I waited for them to roll their dice and apologize.

They pulled my fur, mocked my pur, and smashed my glasses.

I had enough of these pigs, after they ruined my digs.

I blasted, smashed, and crashed. I whooped and growled, then pounced on them all.

I am The Wolf, and I did not commit any crime.

I was nice with my time and took off with their heads.

I am not a criminal, for they had made their beds.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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