Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

TRIOLETS I shall write a short poem on cunt, Explaining its delicate beauty ; Its folds, and its fronds, and its button. Its scent, as of freshly killed mutton. My language may seem very blunt ; But that is my fate, and my duty. I shall write a short poem on cunt. Explaining its delicate beauty. The use of a cunt is to spend in ; The aim of a cunt is to spend. Its neighbour the arsehole laments That the folly of Nature prevents It’s helping the latter, to end in Emission the gentleman’s end. The use of a cunt is to spend in ; The aim of a cunt is to spend. Some people, avoiding the coarse word, Describe it in roundabout fashion As quim, or as cat, or as spot, Or as oyster, or even as twat. But I call turd, turd (it’s a Norse word) ; So cunt figures cunt to my passion. Some people, avoiding the coarse word. Describe it in roundabout fashion. The clergy are partial to choir-boys ; I cannot approve of the taste. For I prefer feeling or fucking With occasional half-hours of sucking. [121]