The morning air was crisp and cool
Upon this lovely autumn day.
And to myself, “Myself,” I say,
“I think it’s time to drop a stool.”
Prepared to lay my Burden down,
I perched myself upon the Throne.
Releasing, first, a gentle moan,
I crimped a Length off for to drown.
It landed on its end and stood
A sort of Fecal Monument,
Full straight and not the least bit bent,
As though ’twas carven out of wood.
I stared in horror at the sight,
A Poopy-Pillar in the bowl!
It shook me to my very soul
To see a turd tow’r thus upright.
As rare as blizzards fall in Hell,
To “stick the landing” so precise
A figure skater on the ice
Could hardly hope to do as well.
Some men are artists, seeking beauty.
Some men are leaders: mighty, sure,
That guide their States with motives pure,
Whilst I squeeze out an Upright Doody.
Some men place feathers in their cap
With great achievements, noble deeds;
Supplying goods the whole world needs.
But me? I took a Standing Crap.