A sonnet to Flatulence from a Misspent Merseyside Boyhood
There are many kinds of fart
A wet fart, a dry fart
A bubble and a squeak
A high fart, a low fart
And one that dare not speak
Afar is a wonderful thing
It sets you at your ease
It warms the bed in Wintertime
And suffocates the fleas
A fart is a telephone
That runs from your belly-bone
To tell you when a load is coming on
Bend double and blow
And then you'll know

Jim