Dancing With The Dung
Nothing better than new, fresh dung.
Loads of critters head for the heap.
A dung beetle's just one among
So many who live to eat (bleep) .
I grab a piece and make a ball
To roll it home fast as I can.
A straight line course is best of all,
But sometimes fate screws up that plan.
So when I hit a snag, I dance.
It helps to get my bearings back,
To circumvent the circumstance,
And get my poop ball back on track.
More oft than not I make my goal,
Just takes a bit of rock and roll.
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Comments about this poem (Dancing With The Dung by Ima Ryma )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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