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.
Comments about this poem (Dancing With The Dung by Ima Ryma )
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