Down in the dell.

I  used to fear to cotton wool balls

Freud might  quite well be appalled

If the penis were cotton

Sex would be rotten

Anyway now I fear hankies and shawls

I never intended to mention

Men’s organs or metal detection

It’s the rhyming, you see,

Which has control over me

So much for my  clever pretension.

i don’t know why even vulva is rude

For it’s hard to see, even when nude.

When I went to the clinic

I turned green as spinach

As  on a TV my organ was viewed.

The doctor kindly  said I could look.

Yet I preferred reading my book.

I took  one  sideways glance

As the doctor’s hands pranced.

So she uttered a loud, rude  rebuke.

I said that new instrument hurts

She said it’s my finger,you berk.

Well it felt very rough

as my skin is not  tough.

She wasn’t just rude,she was curt

If  God had meant women to look

at their vulvas as well as their books

He’s have put  them elsewhere

not hid  them down there.

But,perhaps his holy  hands shook.

i admit it all fits  very well.

As far as a woman can tell

For  we  can knit  gloves

While our spouses make love

Down on that farm in the dell