Oh Husband! My Husband!
O Husband! my Husband! our peaceful sleep is done;
The squall that shook our very rack, resounds from Nature's gun;
The hound has fled, much hair was shed, the bedding ripped asunder,
While there you lay, a' slumber'd keel, oblivious to the thunder:
But O fart! fart! fart!
O legume that you were fed,
Where on the bed my husband lies,
Sleeping like the dead.
O Husband! my Husband! rise up and breathe the air;
Rise up—for you the covers flung—aromas we must share;
From you bouquets of fragrance sweet—From you the scents abounding;
For you I call, unswaying mass, my trepid heart a' pounding:
Here Husband! dear husband!
With arm flung o'er your head;
In torpored dream upon the bed
You're sleeping like the dead.
My husband does not answer, his countenance unshamed;
My husband does not feel my arm, he moves as though to aim;
My ear perceives the rumbling sound of tempests soon to come;
The fearless canine's hasty trip has beckoned me to run:
Tumult, O roars, O gastric swells!
But I, with mournful dread,
Clutch the bed my husband lies,
Sleeping like the dead.
Sent as a joke to poetry.com
