An ode to poop.

O you stinky devil,
that dwells in dark passages,
and rides down lubed tubes,
to a hol'e'y release.

O you being of many a form,
slithering down, a slippery mass,
or a sudden shower of muddy goo,
with bursts of wind in tow.

O you cheeky brownie,
forgot to set your alarm?
The poor thing popped a pill,
and is yet to hear that plop.

O be he a king or a pauper,
if nature doesn't come calling,
or calls much too often,
faecal peace is not to be his.

O as I relax my anal muscles,
and grant thee your freedom,
I can't help being grateful,
for your smooth passage yonder.

This is poem 26 for Robert Lee Brewer's April PAD Challenge 2011. Prompt: "An ode poem".