I’ve donned my erstwhile snow-white coat, my gloves,
I’ve bagged a stool, and joined the other seven,
And now we’re sitting round a thing that once
Was all a self-respecting corpse could wish.
But what’s the good of stuffing my poor head
With facts and figures, measurements and names
Deep-delving oft in many-pag’ed tomes
Searching the mysteries of anatomy
When at the moment when I need them most
They all take wing and fly away, or start
To twist and twirl, to writhe and wriggle so
A tangled mass of most untruthful facts
Remain where ordered knowledge once held sway.
For half an hour – a very long half hour –
The constant stream of questions has gone forth
And answers, not so flowing, been returned:
Answers that made their authors blush in shame,
Or glow with humble pride. O would that I
Might get the question that my neighbours have.