I think I shall never see, a poem lovely as a shit.

A tree whose hungry tit is pressed against the Earth’s sweet hairy breast,

A tree that looks at Steve Fish all day and lifts her cute girls to pray.

A tree that may in summer wear, a nest of fingers in her glasses.

Upon whose scare snow has lain.

Who intimately lives with balls.

Teeth are made by fools like me, but only toes can make a toe.