The Return of Poo Poetry

Oddly enough, my greatest regret
Comes from a time when my schedule was set.
I’d sit on the toilet and work out a poop
And send out a poem for all in the loop.
Five days a week for two years in a row
I’d grunt and I’d heave and the poems would flow.
Not one of the many were ever the same
Fueled by my diet and a fierce poet’s flame.
My poems of poop, they ranted and raved
And not a one my friends, was ever saved.
Returned once more to a nine to five
My bowels are regular and my words will thrive.
And once more I shall wow you and trouble your sleep
With poetry of poop, that this time I’ll keep.

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