Her presence is a coat in wintry breeze,
she breaks the wind --
She passes gas?
Oh please!
This is a love poem to my darling bride.
So when she farts, do you just go outside?
She doesn't do that, nor, my friend, do I.
So, no one ever toots or lets one fly?
Now may I please continue with my ode?
Yes, of course, but please use the commode.
An ode, you oaf, is a verse to present
a person, place, location, or event,
which has made an impression on one's mind,
just as my dear, sweet lover has in kind.
So she has never expressed flatulence?
No she has not, nor will she ever hence.
Should she, someday, be cursed with that wind,
I will capture its perfume and smell again.
|
