On The Bottom
My muse has reached the bottom and is resting
In contemplation of that lowly seat,
Which, when one’s legs are aching and protesting
Is happy to alleviate one’s feet;
Oh comely and alluring derriere,
You captivate the eye and fuse the muse,
Your symmetry will always cause a stir
Among the boys—a sight they can’t refuse!
Accommodating, fain and unobtrusive,
Though partial to the putting on of airs,
For some upon occasion too protrusive
And over-enamoured of comfy chairs.
And while it’s true you’ll always cause a hum,
Still, wouldn’t life be sad without the bum!