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Year Four Poetry


Based on ‘The Wolf’s Wife Speaks’ by Pie Corbett

The Foolish Wolf’s Lesson – By Imane

He was always the first to be awake. First on the hunt. To be up at the first glimpse of sunlight. Sniffing the fresh morning air.

I know for sure. That he had just smelt a piglet or two. But he still needs to run a mile or two. To get the yummy piglets.

But finally, it was too much for him. All that huffing and puffing. Just tired him out. Something was different. I could sense it. Something put his nose, Out of shape.

He’d come home full of confidence. Swaggering into the hut. Showing that wolfish smile. All teeth and tongue.

Then he’d set about boasting. Full of chit chat. Blowing up a hut or two. It cut no ice with me.

The tale signs were there. Sometimes he gets back. Looking like a farmer. Lord alone knows what he has been doing.

The Downfall of the Arrogant Wolf – By Kaila

He was always up at the crack of dawn. His shiny, razor-sharp teeth glistening. On the prowl for a finger-lickin’ piglet. Snapping jaws at the ready.

Then he would swagger back to our den. Smacking his lips and bragging. About his latest catch. Flashing me that mischievous grin.

But, early one morning he darted into our den. I wondered what all the fuss was about. And then I caught sight of his burn bottom (an unpleasant sight!). Still smoking and steaming, now a little stump.

We don’t talk about what happened that day. But he’s much more at home now, poor old thing. My wonderful husband Mr Wolf. Now not so big and bad!

How the Foolish Wolf Learnt his Lesson By Lilah

The wolf was a mischief-maker. Through every day and night. Always out and about tricking other creatures. And scaring them out of their wits.

He would run twelve miles for a tasty bit of crackling. Or a nice slice of meat. But his favourite was a tasty piglet or two. Every day he would pounce skillfully onto a cow or a huge and chubby pig.

It all got too much on Saturday morning. When he came home with straw climbing down his fur. And he huffed and he puffed and blew it all away. What he had been doing was a mystery to me.

That Sunday afternoon, he came home with wood stabbing into him. He said nothing. Before climbing into bed, and then whispering ickle wickle piggies and fell asleep.

The next day he came in like a whirlwind. His bottom as red as apples and no fur at all. Muttering under his breath, “those deceitful piggies!” and jumping at any whisper.

And now, he is, well, out of meat. Still frightened to go outside our house. He is pacing up an down our den for exercise. He pants and breaths heavily. If you ask me, it’s been like this since the day he burned his bottom.


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