I recently had reason for a boast
when emptying my bowels in great haste.
I felt the need to raise a glass and toast
my puerile prize which others see as waste.
'Come see this beauty! ' I cried to my wife.
'A full 5 pounder, if it be an ounce! '
She answered swiftly 'NO! ! ! Not on your life'
I waited by the door, ready to pounce.
'You must come see my proud and portly poo!
Just hold your nose and have a sneaky peek'
'All right! ! .' She then relented and would do
her worst witnessing duty of the week.
'There's nothing here! Have you been telling tales? '
'Hell no, ' I cried. 'It's on the bloody scales! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem