Walked to work today, a long walk. On the walk, I took a detour and walked through some fields. And when I saw a big pile of poo, well, manure, I thought of a friend of mine, took a picture and sent him it.
So he sent me a poem.
A nice one.
Full of love and compassion.
Muse 18.
Let me compare thee to a summers poo.
Thou art more stinky and flatulent,
Rough wind may shake the darling buds of may,
And your stink may linger all too long a date,
Sometimes your farts make too foul the room,
And in turn my complexion greened,
And every stink and smell sometimes declines,
By chance, or a chickpea curry untrimmed,
But thous eternal stink shall not fade,
Not lose possession of that foulness thou ow’st,
Nor shall death want you, cos you smell,
When in eternal lines thou grow’st,
So long as men must wear pegs to breath, or avert their eyes,
So long lives this and gives stink to thee xx
I like the poem.
Anyway, we are to have some friends round for Burns night. My son has eaten haggis in the past, but had refused to because it has fish in it. We told him he was wrong, but when we refused to tell him what was in it, he still refused to eat it.