Sonnet Number Two
“I really, really, really need to poo!”
A tiny voice behind me begs again.
Her summers numbered only two plus two.
“You should have gone before this walk began.”
“I didn’t have to go then!” she exclaimed.
I thought I saw a tremor in her knees.
“You didn’t even try to go.” I blamed.
I wish the old New Forest had more trees.
“We’re past the point of no return.” I moaned,
I’m furtive, searching for a private bush.
No words from her this time; she only groaned.
“This gorse will have to do, but mind your tush.”
I never will forget her face that day.
Wait, weight and Daddy’s hang-ups shat away.
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