Three pigs lay in a blanket, wondering what to do;
The blanket was too tight, and they were heated, through and through.
One pig rose and shook them off, wandering out of doors,
Only to find, outside the lines, he’d be a peeled and cooked main course.
The second pig was smarter, staying inside the pen,
But when he left the blanket, he made breakfast, with the hen.
The last pig lived in terror, having seen his fellows’ death,
But his life was one of blissful rest, and sows with lusty breath.
The three pigs were now one, but that one lived life of leisure,
Until he stopped producing, and became another measure.