A time and place to come to try
To be the champion for the prize.
The scent attracting swarms to vie,
Awinged en masse destiny flies,
Like jousting knights in colored flair,
Hoping to gain the favored nod
Of the opposite sex so fair.
Food and frolic to feed the bod.
Contenders joust upon the field,
Bestowed by nature as a 'gift, '
Until the contenders all yield
To a new game that has been sniffed.
Nothing like a fresh pile of dung
To rally flies, near and far flung.
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Comments about this poem (Tourna(excre) Ment by Ima Ryma )
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