the mystery

A Poem by Pól

Summit I said
summit I done
what on earth was it
that made her run?

She, young and vivicacious
and built just right
I'd need my viagra
to stay the night.

She, vibrant and fresh
I, a sad old git.
Why didn't it work?
Just can't fathom it!

And when I flailed
and started to sag
I requested a break
to change my colostomy bag.

And I looked at that face
a treasure of art
and firmly resolved
to hold in that fart.

Now my filly has bolted
and I'm all alone
lost and bewildered
a dog with no bone.
(To be continued)