Delicate, some may say,
An exchange 'tween who you are and the world,
Often times in the day,
Slowed down, the moment's hard to comprehend,
Like it haps out of time,
The burst of a bubble with no surface,
As elusive as a well-thought-out rhyme,
It provides relief from pent-up pressures,
Something we all savvy,
Raised as we are to suppress our nature,
We don't have much, have we?
Except for this,
Nature's spontan'ous art,
Whether cel'brated or enjoyed alone,
We all apprec'ate the joy of the fart.
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