Crap, Dung, Feces, Manure, Nicotine, Poo, ****, Waste,
It never mattered to the ears just as long as it has taste,
Not the tactile on the tongue but rather the slip of the sound,
The way it dances in the air all day around and round,
To bounce off the walls and the cliffs,
Getting smaller as each corner takes a whiff,
Until the message of emotion is released,
Appealing to the hearts as never it will cease,
Sometimes clear as the springs harvest bring,
While other times it comes in discording rings.