Ode to the Pooplayers

In corners quiet, in halls of home,

Stands sentinel white, our porcelain throne.

John, Lou, WC, names plenty we share,

For this sacred space of solitary care.

Through centuries past, from outhouses plain,

To marble temples that ease our strain,

From wooden seats to heated bliss,

No comfort greater than moments like this.

In morning's hush or midnight's peace,

Where thoughts flow free, where tensions cease,

Our faithful friend with waters deep,

Guards our dignity, our secrets keep.

From humble hole to royal flush,

Through times of need and moments rushed,

Patient porter of life's daily load,

Accepting all down your porcelain road.

O pristine bowl of contemplation pure,

Where inspiration strikes, and thoughts mature,

Your waters swirl like destiny's dance,

In your embrace, we find our chance.

To kings and paupers, all the same,

This throne of truth knows not of fame.

In solidarity we sit and ponder,

While life's great mysteries we wonder.

So here's to you, our faithful friend,

Supporting us until the end.

In bathroom stalls both near and far,

You are our home, our guiding star.