Today's poems [10.7.20]
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An old maiden who barely did kissing,
Soon discovered what she had been missing.
When laid down on the sod,
She cried out, "Oh, God!
All these years I just used it for pissing!"
There once was a man of Belfast
Whose balls out of iron were cast.
He managed somehow
To bugger a sow,
Thus you get pig-iron, at last.
He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian.
Spurred on by a very high wager
With an envious Lieutenant Major,
Ben proceeded to fart
The complete oboe part
Of the Hayden Octet in B-Major.
A young trapeze artist named Bract,
Is faced by a very sad fact.
Imagine his pain,
When again and again,
He catches his wife in the act.
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