It was a very strange day
A day, you could say of unrest.
The day Mr Pig was wed
And wore his Sunday best.

Underneath the Duck’s frustrated wings
He had hidden a gun.
He was planning to use this weapon
Once the ceremony had begun.

The Organist commenced and
The door flung open and in she marched.
In what could only be described as a mess
That had been heavily starched.

Mr Duck felt repulsed
Somebody had failed to do their job
Mr Pig had tears in his eyes as he stared
At his white overweight blob.

Mr Pig’s pride and joy called the shots
But not the one fired from the gun
The wing took aim, the trigger released
The blob fell like the setting of the sun.

She hit the deck with an almighty thud
Mr Duck pelted into his hiding place
Where he had planned to stay the rest of the week
And the guilt wiped from his troubled little face. - to be continued ...