Good morning. I woke with a breakfast poem in my head. This is also a true story. I did have a pig named blackie when I was about ten years old. I was also a member of the 4-H club. The killing of Blackie is one of the reasons I do not eat meat.
I once had a pig named blackie.
Who lived at the top of the hill
He knew I was coming to feed him.
By the way, I rattle his pail.
He would lie on his back in the sunshine.
And wait for his big belly rubs.
Neither Blackie nor I could imagine
He would soon become breakfast grub.
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Rambling Harbor 
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