A ode to Poo

               ( With apologies to Shewolf)

Poo in the morning, poo in the evening, poo at a quarter past nine

I’ve cleaned up every kind of poo, from granite, to icky green slime

The poo producing polecats, are artists of an eclectic sort,

Making quantities of poo that woulfd fill a medium size port!

My artists make masterpieces of every imaginable type,

From curly Q’s, to crossed T’s ,from a butt dragging cross-ways wipe!

"How high can we go"!?, as the awful artists back up and let fly

I believe if they could lift a little more, they’d attempt to paint the sky

A dash there, a dot there, exclamation over yonder

Are secret messages within?, it’s enough to make you ponder

For if a picture paints a thousand words, and I think it really do

What I’ve been reading all these years , is really Moby Poo!