Three pigs were brought in to the town,
They all began to squeal;
A man with long and pointed knives
Their fate was set to seal.
They kicked and pushed and shook in fer,
Yet could they know just why?
Perhaps it was a hidden sense
Told them they were to die.
But just as they got to the place
Which was their journey’s end,
The pigs shoved hard with all their might
And posts began to bend.
The fence fell down and off two went
As fast as they could go,
And that they swam from bank to bank
The world was soon to know.
As word got out of their escape
Folk came to have some fun;
To catch a sight of two young pigs
Who now were on the run.
The press came in from near and far,
The T.V. cameras too;
With ‘copters flying overhead,
What would our two pigs do?
They hid and ate in field and copse,
Rejoicing to be free;
They led the press a merry dance,
What was their fate to be?
“They’re for the chop, they will not live!”
Their owner said aloud;
‘Twas something that he said most clear,
Almost as if quite proud.
Oh No! Oh No! They must not die!”
The cry was heard all round,
“They’ve won their right to live in peace,
A new home must be found.”
So when they’re caught and that man says
They will not have to die,
The fact he got some fifteen grand
Could be the reason why.
Of those two pigs we heard a lot,
But not so much their mate;
What was to be the end of him?
What was to be his fate?
At five months old unlike his friends
His future was less sweet;
With fear and pain, then blood and guts,
He ended up as meat.
No matter just how far it is
From abattoir to plate,
The suffering of those who die
Is always just as great.
What right have we to take the lives
Of those who are so mild?
To sex, to fix, to cage, these ones,
When each is like a child?
Our brains and might give us much power
O’er all that is around;
We must make sure we live our lives
On principles more sound.
If who shall live and who shall die
Is based on power and taste,
‘Tis surely not their lives alone
That we do choose to waste;
For when we hurt and maim and kill,
And then the victims eat,
Something inside each one of us
Will also face defeat.
What would be lost, I ask you all,
But chains and ties that bind,
If we should choose a way of life
That is not cruel but kind?
For health, for wealth, for man or beast,
Please contemplate the choice;
I write these lines as best I can
For those who have no voice.
Michael Pearce, ‘Three Little Pigs’