The Vanishing Organ

Sam Ebenezer a sad ol' geezer was lamenting his shrinkage of late: my worthless ding-a-ling is a bell without ring my manhood in diminishing state From whence I salute is thin as a flute and soft to the touch as cashmere I search with persistence it offers resistance on nature's call to appear On heeding that call no waterfall a few errant droplets at best where once from the middle I gushed, now I piddle and half of my load veers west Both feet on the urn pushing forth from astern I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus' with my punctured esteem watch the pitiful stream dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus Our wee-membered friend wished his size to amend the stiffness rerouted from his joints have it rise to occasion and stand to attention consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint: My snake is dead no flesh; just head lies comatose and useless my garden hose once warmed my toes now wrinkled, dry and juiceless The senile old doctor by name Alfred Proctor had most of his wit in absentia his breath smelt cheesy Ebenezer felt queasy Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia Doc's hand took a dip to just 'neath his ribs as Ebenezer voiced his concern Doc smiled all the while said: your hopes are futile there's no cure for your vanishing organ I lost my virility before my senility long mourned my lost pride-and-joy put my plight to rest on realizing I'm blessed to have in hand my own built-in toy **************************************