THE PIG'S FUNERAL

(The inspiration for writing this poem stems from an eventful happening in the early childhood of my husband, the Reverend Lloyd Greer.)

It was many and many a year ago
When the pig just up and died,
And the children came from the neighborhood
And gathered around and cried.

A grave was dug, a hymn was sung,
But who would a prayer say
And who would preach the funeral
Of the pig now gone away?

A little lad of five or six
With tear stains on his face,
Was chosen out of the multitude
To fill this solemn place.

Forgotten are most of the words he said,
But this one thought did cling,
"He was a good little pig and he died young
He didn't root up anything."

The pig was lowered into the ground
And the flowers were spread with care,
And the children went their separate ways
And left the piglet there.

The years went by as all years do
And this little lad grew big,
But now and then someone recalls
The funeral of the pig.

He's preaching now, and often times
Beside the broken sod,
He speaks the sad and solemn words
Commending souls to God.

Oh! Would that he could always speak
Of the folks who slip away
The comforting words he said back then
Of the pig that died that day.

Virgie B. Greer