The sleeping Pooets have stirred.
Their dreams of fecal emerged.
Awaken the dreamer.
Release a screamer.
And now their bowels are purged.

This sleep of a thousand shits.
Took away the writers wits.
Like a blocked sewer pipe.
A backlog of oozed tripe.
Stuck fast with the grizzly grits.

Bad dreams of fecal dismay.
Hideous slops and brown decay.
No longer haunt our souls.
Instead occupy the bowls.
Then flushed far, far away.

Winds of change blow hard.
Freeing the crystal brown shard.
Writers block no more.
Incoming fecal downpour.
Porcelain filled with stinky lard.

Toilet slime now flows free.
Fresh smells of poo and wee.
Spray the pleasant fragrance.
To erase the fecal impatience.
Now breathe freely, you and me.