Poem: Opus F

Flatulence,
my happy friend,
to keep me warm,
down in my end.
Farting boldly,
through the night,
gas comes out,
to make things right.
Great Gas Bags,
of smell most foul,
drips of poop,
are oft times found.
Left alone,
to sit and weep,
for that Great Fart
that will
repeat