Trickle, trickle, little stream,
Your persistence makes me scream!
Down below that wizened Soul,
You keep drizzling in the bowl.
After feeble flow is done,
When the droplets turn to none,
Your return’s no welcome sight,
Trinkle, trinkle through the night.
So now I seek from a Doc
Answers to my bladder’s block,
To ease fear I’ll never go
And relieve this old man’s woe.
Will this be cure or wet dream?
© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.