Letting Rip, Knock Poem by Sheena Blackhall
Letting Rip, Knock
In an Irish Charity shop I encountered
A third order lay Franciscan,
Who let one rip, and said with Falstaffian charm
‘Were you after hearing that now? '
Oh, he was as full of smiles and wiles
As a basketful of ferrets
He was Ireland wearing its Blarney mask
Hiding its bleeding heart
Calvin would never have let one go like that
Too mean to share the humanity of a fart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 1:48:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
