The little pig stuck his nose in the trough
But the big pig moved him over,
He started again where he left off
But the big pig moved him over,
He squealed and shivered, his whole intent
Was to find a place for himself—he meant
To give no offense—and protesting he went
As the big pigs moved him over.
He bristled with signs of a small pig’s right
But the big pigs moved him over.
He struggled and bit with a small pig’s might
But the big pigs moved him over.
In the trough was his dinner without fork or plate,
His hunger’s edge warned him not to wait
(Though the pig was little, his need was great),
But the big pigs moved him over.
He trembled, the little pig did, in despair
As the big pigs moved him over,
He pushed for the trough like everyone there
But the big pigs moved him over,
He panted and wrinkled his small pig’s face
There was plenty to eat, was size his disgrace?
But the length of the trough, in place after place,
The big pigs moved him over.
