1 June 2012
There was a young lady from Stroud, With beauty and skills so crafted; But nothing was ever so loud, As when she smiled and farted.
She sang with the voice of an angel, Her eyes deeper than eternity; And a heart where all love fell, Directed through nipples of certainty.
Then comes the boatman from nowhere, Gruff, so head over heals and dumbfounded; Forever lost in the depths of despair, To grasp tightly her bottom so rounded.
He pushed, pulled and held for dear life, The full thrust of it ravaged his hair; His nose curled backwards to the right, But no matter, he could not care.
They shuddered, stood there in shock, A vacuum of love whence it started; The ground quaked as he too let one off, And together, from this Earth they departed
If ever so beautiful from Stroud, A lady so fair and full-hearted; Nothing compared so proud, As the tears on her face, when HE farted.
Copyright Ⓒ 2012 Christopher Patrick Kirk all rights reserved
A Young Lady From Stroud • Opuss № I