I might leave my body to science,
And that fact has inclined me to muse
About which parts may be of some interest,
And which they'll decide not to use.
Will they look at my feet and discover
That the bones have received some hard knocks ,
From when I twirled round in my high heels,
And my beautiful petticoat-frocks?
Will they look at my knees for a moment
And give my past actions some thought.
Will they say 'Well, they're not too bad really;
She certainly never played sport!'
Will they glance at my hips, which are skinny,
And will one of them say 'How on earth
Did such a poor piece of equipment
Play a part in the business of birth?'
When they get to my chest they'll discuss it;
'Ah! She made up her mind to adjust
From a rather top-heavy arrangment
To a much more amenable bust!'
When the neck-bones are reached they'll look fragile.
Will they work out which ones have caused pain?
Will they say of my email obsession
'It'll never cause neck-ache again.'
Then they'll come to my brain, but its secrets
Will be hidden away for all time.
They'll prod and they'll pry at the grey stuff,
But they'll never know I made words rhyme.