On your pink back you lay,
Winded, your trotters to the heaven’s four winds,
One, one might say, to each one.
I tickled you and found
Your tender spot.
Struck by lightning, struck by lightning!
Panbashed and panicked,
Was shown the cave door.
I wished him high jinks, the tall telamons
Watched him limp stylewards without waving.
He turned painfully,
Pig! he shouted.
Pet I said
And pet I meant!
Returning, I caressed your tender spot.