|Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
How can I shout my thoughts to the world,
when trapped in my passage is something unfurled?
Christmas is over – that much is true,
so why can’t I shift, then, my arse off the loo?
Year’s not done – I must see the end –
so where is the bog roll that should be my friend?
With laughter, I rise – pants at my knees,
but a blast of cold air, alas, makes me sneeze.
How can I hobble – hunt down a roll –
my knees stuck together by poo with no soul?
The New Year is here – that much is true,
JUST CHUCK US SOME BOG ROLL, IF STUCK IN THE QUEUE!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool , December 2018
Inspired by Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poem, ‘The Year’.