A Dead Man’s Doo

The dead man’s doo, sat at the bottom of the loo.
It had been lying there for a week or two.

Out of respect, the Grim Pooper didn’t collect.
Nor flush and brush away the brown specks.

But the bereaved need release, so I farewelled his grease.
And as I flushed I whispered rest in peace.

Once the water was still, the service was fulfilled.
But a faint lingering scent gave me the chills.

Though dearly departed, his cheeks never again parted…
The spirit left this world, said farewell and farted.

Pure Pooetry

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