Writer's Block; for JD with love and squalor

Of all the ills of the universe,
Constipation is one terrible curse;
You sit on the throne for hours and hours,
Calling on all the heavenly powers.
O move along, get along, move along, get along,
Go! Move! Shift!

You plead and beg with desperate howls,
For the emancipation of your bowels;
While your intestines their duty shirk
At your own evacuation of Dunkirk.
O move along, get along, move along, get along,
Go! Move! Shift!

While purgatives of every kind
Within your stomach provoke great wind,
Emitting odours of intense repulsion,
But nothing close to an expulsion.
O move along, get along, move along, get along,
Go! Move! Shift!

Still as the years and ages roll on,
Nothing at all gets past the colon:
And while you yearn for just one small plop
Peristaltic motion comes to a full stop.
O move along, get along, move along, get along,
Go! Move! Shift!

Matthew Edwards (with profound apologies to EM & PS)