Roller

The beetle rolled his ball of dung
he had a way to go,
His trail was fraught with obstacles,
The wind, the sleet and snow.

That dung ball nearly met it’s end
amidst the melting slush,
So beetle had to cart the crap
before it turned to mush…

He hauled the poo, he trudged the turd
across the cold terrain,
His thorax sore – it begged a rub,
for shifting dung’s a strain.

But steep climb up the mountain path
his final bitter pill,
Indeed, the chore that broke his back
was pushing shit uphill!