Some of us are never even in the running for those whom we pine. This poem is illustrated with the cutest little pink pig wearing a big bow between her ears.

I munch on pizzas
each time you pass me by.
Give me spaghetti,
meatballs and sauce, quite high--
the more the better
when you make me cry.
Pile on the gravy
because my tators are dry.
Why watch my figure?
All you do is walk by.
You think I’m sloppy,
that my home is a sty.
“You have a big snout,”
you say. I cannot lie.
I pine for you dearly
have yet to catch your eye.
Visible, clearly,
as round as I am tall.
My love . . . paradise . . .
but you squandered it all!
I never 'caught' your eye!