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Pooetry

Winds of Northern Shartness

Once again it’s that time of the year…
When I feel a chill against my rear.

The porcelain is unforgiving and cold.
But it’s the only one in this household.

You can exhale and see your breath.
I just farted and saw a cloud of death.

The weather has turned quite frigid.
And my poop has become icy and rigid.

But when it’s time to deliver the brown goods…
I’m just glad I’m not shitting in the woods!

Pure Pooetry

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