by Greg Barden
Swimming pigs of the Caribbean,
Are not just silly rumors. . .
Little Polly is just such a pig,
From the island of Exumas.
Oh, Polly loves the water so,
Her family loves it, too. . .
Cool and clear and aqua,
That soft Bahamian blue!
You may think that it's unusual,
For swine to EVER swim. . .
But stranger, still, what Polly does,
When the day is getting dim. . .
Tho' the sea's her second home,
Her favorite thing's the sky. . .
You see, she has a special gift,
Little Polly knows how to FLY!
She keeps it secret, mostly,
Not upstage her family's act,
For countless are the tourists,
That swimming pigs attract.
At dusk she lets the evening sun
Dip below the far horizon. . .
The cover of a sparkling night
Is the sky that Polly flies in!
Her favorite time to soar is when
The moon is full and pale. . .
It's a starlit night of breezes,
That curls her piglet tail!
To wing beneath the Milky Way,
And ride the moonbeams, bright,
To dip and spin and loop-the-loop,
And ronds de jambe in-flight!
To dive and tickle wave-tops,
And make her hoof-trails glow,
To hop from cloud to puffy cloud,
Fills her little pig heart so!
Her family feels she's overboard,
They're fine with sea and sand,
But ANY pig who's never flown,
Isn't apt to understand. . .
So, if you someday make the trip,
To Polly's native isle. . .
Find a hammock after sunset,
And put your feet up for awhile.
I doubt you'll catch her flying,
Few like me have had the thrill,
But if you're patient and you're lucky,
WHEN PIGS FLY. . .
Perhaps you will!