There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan
Because he could not jump.
Anyway, the picture was of a crying pig sitting by a broken pump. I loved that picture. I am not sure why. It may have been toward the back of my reader and so I would look ahead to it and think how great it would be to have read so much by the time I got there. Or it may be that I had no idea what melancholy meant, but I had a pretty good guess by reading the poem and looking at the picture. Whatever the reason, the picture is burned on my brain. And if I were a better artist, I could render it all for you, great big tears flying hither and yon and the saddest face you ever saw. But something about that face made me think, even as a six year old, that he needed to pull himself together! Whenever I find myself thinking that I need to pull myself together, I picture that melancholy pig. However, I feel sorry for the pig when I read the poem again. It does say it would even stir a heart of stone. So maybe I have softened in the last twenty five years. Anyway, all of this to say, please forgive my blubbering, preaching, horn tooting, or however I came across. Just think of me like you do the Pig. But you'll have to come up with your own illustration.