Poem #38

Pockets of gold collect above tree trunks,

Leaving each base swaddled in low umbrage;

My quest today is to locate some skunks,

(An ambition of mine since a young age).

Viewed from above they seem to wear medals,

White metal slipped around their unkempt tails;

The forest critters keep them well fed, all!

So that their ‘lympic posture never fails.

But what attracts me most, of course, is stink,

A chance to sample nature’s grim defence;

My nose the beastly odour whole shall drink,

And relish every sensory offense.

Let me ask, before you judge: are my goals

Not just viewing locked doors as unfilled holes?

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