Mess Poem by Shaun Cronick

My gate is always open,
My gate is never shut.
When closed it does protect,
But it can't stop some mangy mutt.

It makes a mess in the garden,
It makes a mess on the drive.
Perhaps I'll build a wall,
Against incontinency I'll strive.

It stinks to high Heaven,
This mess from living Hell.
The many surprises it leaves behind,
This dog is clearly so unwell.

I hope it is a dog,
And not some kinky neighbour.
For this many mounds of poop,
They must strain and labour.