Oh glory be to God for smelly things,
For pungent cheese and vinegar in vats;
For swamps and all their rot and moulderings,
For incontinent dogs and pissing cats;
For armadillos flattened in the heat,
Their outlaid innards all puffed up with gas;
For unwashed athletes' armpits, sweaty feet,
For butts, and all the fragrances they pass.
What would a summer be without the pong,
So strangely chemical, of angry skunk?
Praise Him who made the musk so foul and strong,
For every fulsome, fecund, fecal funk!
Though flowers' powers might be fine indeed,
Sometimes I think a stink is what we need.