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.
