Here’s a bit of ha-ha from this amateur poet.
Oh little boy, my love for you is off the charts.
Your smiles melt my heart, and your toots smell like farts.
You tug on that penis, like it might come apart,
And your drawings with my mascara are state of the art.
I love the special treasures that you hide in our laundry cart,
But get a weary feeling when I stick my hand in a moldy tart.
I cherish our special feedings, on the tampon aisle at the mart,
But when you bite me while you’re feeding, I always give a start, (or let out a fart.)
Although I’m unsure that mac and cheese is best served a la carte,
The kale and spinach I’ll sneak into your next meal, will surely provide a dietary restart.
You are quite michevious, but do not yet rival Bart.
Don’t tell other parents I say so, but I know you’re extra smart,
I know so, the doctor has shown me all the ‘smarty’ charts.
In your honor, I won’t end this poem till I use every word that rhymes with fart.
In regards to spreading smiles, laughs, and poop, you really do your part.
Oh my preciously radiant, tugging, and tooting prince, you’ll never lose my heart.
Dear little boy,
I love you.