(An ode to my almost 3 year old & his approach to toilet training)
It was a tricky little poo.
The kind that made you know not what to do.
Making itself known then disappearing once grown.
It was quite the allusive number two.
A new bot to the pot.
It created much consternation and great indignation.
For the mind easily distracted to the point it forgot
Why sit here at this poo station?
Immersed again in kids play
The poo quiet and retreated
Resigned to be held there all day
Yet crouched down as though seated
It flew out too fast
Rolling onto the grass and out at last
The poo lay still on the floor
Number two hidden no more.
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