The morning dawned brightly and Hoagie awoke
And stumbled downstairs for his first morning smoke.
As Phoebus ascended in his polished car,
He saw that the library door was ajar.
Now this was the room to which he'd been denied
And housed his collection, which he liked to hide
From casual guests who might not understand
His room-full of phalluses from every land.
There were lingams from India and dicks carved from stone
By men prehistoric, so polished they shone.
A penis-shaped crystal once pulled from a mine,
A phallus of wood from a Japanese shrine,
A funeral frieze from old Egypt -- a bummer
Until you see Isis give some guy a hummer,
A thing from his garden (might just be a rock),
A Mexican weed-pipe you smoked through the cock.
But none of these baubles attracted his sight
As he saw inside, by the clear morning light,
In the spot where, in past years, their Yule-tree had been,
A freshly carved, towering ebony peen.
He stared there a moment in saucer-eyed wonder,
The curtains of grief torn completely asunder.
Now joy penetrated that old phallophile;
His craggy face broke in a snaggle-toothed smile.
His fancies, though, were not enraptured for long;
The wizard was drawn to that giant black dong.
Its head reached the ceiling, its balls reached the door,
He tip-toed around where they stretched 'cross the floor.
In its polished surface he could see his face --
And Robin behind him, a strap-on in place.
* * *
I come to the end of my salacious tale
And cover their antics with modesty's veil.
I'll spare you the details (though I hear you begging)
Of their geriatric but vigorous pegging.
For we know that Hoagie, like Osiris green,
Can be resurrected and led by a peen.
But her cry, which I heard as she fearlessly humped,
Was something like "MAGA!" and "You have been Trumped!"
Merry Christmas everybody!