Poems in Their Original State (uncensored poems)

America has a troubled history with allowing the poets, singers and dancers express themselves in the way they choose. We take their material, cut it up, paste it on a wall, dance around it, then spit on it like it was nothing to us but a filthy whore or sister that isn't alive anymore because she knew what she did.

Well, Eric and Andy can't rest while this is happening any longer!
We have dug through the poem vault to bring you the finest material you never knew exsisted.
Poems you have grown up loving, or are new to your children. Poems that touched you, or your children, or your gandparents.
To begin, here is a piece from the much beloved Shel Silverstien told in it's meant-to-be way:

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and vagina.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
Tits Tits Tits and Farts for Lunch!
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

A+
Told in it's orginal way, this poem has gone from amusing, to a mirror on society.