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The story that I tell today, a boy that I once knew,
Is cautionary by itself, but more than that, it’s true.

The day was spring, our boy was young, outside the house he went. Hopped on his bike and hit the park,
He’s playing with a friend.
Swings were swung, climbs were climbed, all fun until the end,
But what came next is set in time,
And never will it mend.

’twas dinner time for the boys, so homeward bound they came.
Hopped on their bikes and rode the road, heard mommy call their names.

Then….

One of the boys, in his haste, his mouth an open vent,
A bird above let loose a bomb, and
In his mouth it went.

What to do? Does he spit?
And taste the poop again?
He just keeps on keeping on,
till to his home he gits.

So all of you who ride your bike
With your mouth ajar
Keep this boy fresh in mind,
Lest you repeat his repertoire.

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