An Ode To Poo

As I sat down on the toilet, on that fateful Christmas Eve,

The Ship, she was a’ rumblin—A dire warning one should heed!

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A feast prepared in goodness, by a loving matron wife,

Was curdling into horror, causing pain and fear and strife.

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I simply couldn’t stop it, the tremors coming fast;

The nauseating noises coming coupled with some gas.

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The canine was a keen one; she sensed the storm a brewin’;

She fled away at mighty speeds, yet no one went pursuin’.

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The ham it was a oinkin’; the taters were a mashin’;

The casserole was green and slimy, while the corn, it was a thrashin.

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The product was a trophy, one worthy of a master;

A frown so brown had not been seen in toilet, yard, nor pasture.

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As the maestro took his mighty bow, the Charmin bears went chill;

They fled the scene with AngelSoft, leaving only Cottonelle.

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The task it was a-gruesome—a mushy mound of shite;

Entrenched inside a mighty forest, gripped inside with might.

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But this TP had courage. And swallow fear he did;

With Righty’s help, he folded up and dove into the shit.

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His body was a-mangled, and cast into the toilet;

As he eyed the mighty stool he wonder’d, “how’d the mighty maestro coil it?”

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The maestro looked upon his child, tears welled up in his eyes;

As he said farewell, a droplet felled, on his precious, precious prize.

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The toilet gurgled loudly, the cogs they were a turnin’;

The mighty jets within the bowl, to the beast they were a churnin’.

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The mighty poo, the king of kings, had met his great demise;

His royal crown, of golden corn, met ill with such short rise.

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The King he was a-wounded; a soldier on the field;

As he left the battle, weary-bodied, his butthole now felt seared.

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The gruesome stink remaining was reminder of those lost;

As with every great achievement, it comes always at a cost.