MY ONE INCH LITTLE HORN

 

MY ONE INCH FRIEND

 

I came into life

And many said it was so cute

At age three it resembled a pan flute.

 

At age ten it grew in shape and direction

And many said happiness would come from it.

And sure to truth

In show and tell it was a hit.

 

Nearing fifteen it sprang to life

Whenever teacher flashed her slip

My balls rubbed my rod and did a flip.

 

Now at age 50 and battles won

The mighty poker slithered in my jeans

And if my wife can wake the dead,

That’s a mystery still to be seen.

 

As an octogenarian

My mighty beast lay in hibernation.

Too small and too tired

For some friendly masturbation.

 

Dead in a hole,

My wicked pecker as small and withered as the day I was born.

The formaldehyde flowing through my veins

Gave girth and stiffness to my little horn.

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