A Passing Breeze

I took a step through crowded air,
With gentle grace and utmost care,
And nodded once—“Excuse me, dear,
”
Though what came next was far less clear.

A sound arose not from my shoe,
Nor creak of floorboards old and true,
But from a place both dark and bold—
A truth my cheeks could barely hold.

The trees outside stood still, aghast,
As silence fell upon the blast.
Yet still I walked, with head held high,
A man who’d let his burdens fly.

For what is shame, if not the art
Of owning every humble fart?