She yearned to endure the restraint
of Maidenform’s cumbersome traps;
to snare loads of hot-handed swains
who’d seek to untangle her straps.  

Yet Time took its own sweet time
to form sacred mounds on her chest.
They grew into grapes and then into limes,
but Nature neglected the rest.  

So she took the problems into her hands,
with help of a surgeon she’d known,
who planted two implants in her barren sand.
Now her boobs have a life of their own.

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