Grapes of Wrath
It came to pass that my bum turned to farce,
A horrid soreness had came bulging through,
At first unsure, I did not have a clue
About the grapes now glowing from my arse.
It came to pass that ideal idea shone,
And cost of treatment would be just some pence,
No reason now to sit astride the fence
When cured I could be soon with problem gone.
It came to pass that cream, in its small tube,
Was greasy and had odour of its own,
Though dosed with this the tissue stayed full-blown,
This makes these words of wrath come out quite crude.
It came to pass that I now owned bum-balls,
Not quite the size as those hung at the front,
Though haemorrhoids is right and piles so blunt,
My tender bottom line swears at all stools.