This is the tale of Surgeon Brown,
A transplant man of some renown.
One day, whilst strolling through a wood
He chanced upon a pool of blood.
Beside it lay a severed head,
And close at hand, the body – dead!
The clue to this calamity
Lay propped against a part-sawn tree.
A chainsaw, wielded by some loser,
Appeared to have despatched its user.
A passer-by looked on aghast.
“My God,” she cried “He’s breathed his last!”
“Do not despair.” the surgeon said,
“For I can re-attach this head,
If only I could find some ice.”
Then came a shout – “Will this suffice?”
As from a Mr. Whippy van
Emerged a helpful ice-cream man.
“This tub of ice-cream’s all I’ve got.”
“Oh dear,” said Brown “that’s not a lot.”
“This tiny little bit of ice is
Precipitating quite a crisis.”
“For I must keep both sections cold
Or tissue structure will not hold
Until I get this man to bed.
I’ve just enough to pack the head.”
Just then he heard a timely “cluck”.
“A chicken!” he exclaimed. “What luck!”
“This hapless fowl will do the trick.”
With that, he seized the bird, right quick
And laying out his Surgeon’s kit,
(He often found a use for it)
He deftly took the bird apart,
Removed its boldly beating heart,
Performed a transplant there and then,
And gave to man the heart of hen.
The corpse then stirred from where it lay,
Leapt to its feet and ran away.
Said Brown, “That isn’t so absurd,
It thinks that it’s a headless bird.
As all its instincts start to kick in
It runs around like a headless chicken.
And so he took the parts with care,
(The body dashing here and there,
The head borne gently in a basin,
Kept cool in Special Rum and Raisin),
Back to the local A and E,
Where he performed for all to see
A quite stupendous re-connection
Of his patient……….On reflection,
Although his subject seems recovered,
Two side-effects he’s since discovered.
He can’t eat eggs, and sad to say,
From every fight, he runs away!