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Poem

I love to fart, it stands me tall,
the raucous rumbling, belly bell,
all look around with eyes aghast,
to witness such a mighty  blast.

when before the beak for slander foul,
I gave him one that made him scowl,
“does Sir require a time alone?”
I farted down his crony’s phone.

and if I’m lauded, like Le Potomane,
I light one to produce a tongue of blue
incandescent flame; thus lit, the room
and shadows prance, about the room
the dragons  dance

and when in battle we cower from gun,
and want to encourage my comrades on,
I crouch below hell’s muddy trench, and 
thus release the devil’s stench

then running forward death all around, I 
fart the bugle’s curdling sound, and to
the enemy’s quick dumbfound, so
soon we seize triumphant ground 

you see for me it is no shame, to unleash 
the belly’s dogs of war, and oft when
travelling by first class, I give them a blast 
from boiling ass

when love speaks strong and passion cries,
beneath the sheets there are no lies, so ahhs!!
or Oohs!!  I never start, but let rip a lover’s
orgasmic fart

look:  tis not the wallet, watch or jewel, that 
creates the jinx, and mocks the fool, a prettier 
penny lies beneath;
tis the fart; and jealous mule, the thief.

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