The Fatted Porker - a different slant on the Prodigal Son

The Fatted PorkerI liked the lad. He always had a smile,a whistle on his lips, and used to waitand watch us eat. Oh, you can call it swillbut I'm not proud. For if it comes to thatI've cracked the windfall, fresher from the mossthan all your snow-cooled fare. I've savoured shootsthat daylight never blessed. But let it pass -I liked him. He was generous with the oats.Not like his brother there, a