What Is It? Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
What Is It?
Dungbeetles eat it.
It fertilises gardens.
Smells to high heaven.
Worlds would not exist
without the putrid droppings
all done in private.
Which means that goodness
might be dependent on it
can't live without it.
I would whisper only sweet somethings into your ears (into the left that way the right hemisphere would believe it) , never the solution of this puzzle. Merde he said. Best H
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 9:13:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
She started it! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! H