In conversing with folk in the town,
At the bus stop ,or when we sit down
Don’t say “sempiternal”,
They’ll think it’s internal,
Then give you an unpleasant frown.
As for vulva,they’ll think it’s a car.
And the word is too impolite by far.
Yet when I phone the switchboard
Vulval Clinic ,I must roar.
It’s invisible ; there’s no need to stare.
I wonder what corresponds in the male?
Nuts or Balls may not be very hale.
Testicular Clinic
Sounds like Examinations,innit?
If my face were less red,I’d be pale.
When I was a child in the NW terrain
We were always reserved without shame.
We had little choice
As such words were unvoiced.
So we enjoyed fun and games with no blame.
Now everything’s right in your face.
No sweetness can be gently embraced
It’s f*ck,sh*t and pee…
Not “may I have my tea?”
On the phone we hear,I’m just touching base.
Well ,base our society ‘s become,
Which takes away most of the fun.
We have no rules to break;
A mere climax to fake.
Which is tough if you’ve never enjoyed even one.
So we seek a refuge in our pleasures.
And even now we can find our own treasures
A kiss on the ear
A hand which can steer.
It’s all sort of measure for measure.
My verbiage is getting more rude.
As I aged I became rather crude
My modesty’s still here
But the end is quite near
I guess it is time something brewed.
My teapot got drastically changed.
By chance,it was not pre -arranged.
It fell on the floor
and bent its top door.
It ‘s so post modern,I’m unflutterly deranged.
Ah,now I am watching TV.
They are cooking an omelette for me.
But how can it travel
From here to West Babel?
I’ll ask the police what may be .
How my heart sings 