When one ponders unplumbed humor,
a source, of course, would be a tumor;
within a skull of flesh and bone,
my brain does not reside alone.
Doctors said I had a growth,
but due to Hippocratic oath,
they thought just to leave it there,
and I find a new hat to wear.
The doctors wondered, "Ought we tell him?'
it's resting twixt the cerebellum,
and my spiffy spinal cord:
Make a nick -- meet the Lord.
My wife told them to go ahead,
since the choice was dumb or dead;
they operated -- now I'm free
to live the life of celery.
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