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Pooetry

A Grain of Sand

There’s a tiny grain of sand.
Down in my southern gland.
For when I lift up my frock.
And drop a stinky brown rock…
I feel the rubbing firsthand.

Pooping doesn’t remove the speck.
But I can’t get in there to check.
My passage endures the coarse.
And coughs a fart so hoarse.
Mustn’t use ass to sand the poop deck.

Pure Pooetry

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