Perpetual rut: oh what a mixed blessing;

Once it begins it grows without lessening!

It somehow controls us beyond understanding,

Thanks to its urging and constant demanding.

 

Originally intended to prolong our fine race,

It seems to have increased since we've fallen from grace.

Now we can barely remember our aim

To control our own destiny, once sex is our game.

 

When inserting Part A to another's Part B

Our pleasure takes over without referee,

And instead of tending to selective breeding

We become only intent on continual seeding.

 

Thus it behooves us, in saving the race

To identify B Parts that breed no disgrace.

Boy to boy bonding, girl to girl love

Will insure our redemption by heaven above.

 

And guarantee food enough, plus adequate space

So our descendants (more properly paced)

Will have room to grow and to find their true pair:

Though this time around breeders get the ten percent share.

 


 

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