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We pathologists, wise men say, are obsessed with food, I, for once, dunno if that's bad or good. When you sit down to a hearty meal, Do you think it's such a big deal, That a serving of piping hot pea soup Takes you through a typhoidal gut loop ? Or, the sight of anchovy sauce makes you shiver, `cos it only means—amoebic abscess of the liver ! When soft, creamy pudding studded with sago Reminds one of the spleen you cut not long ago; You switch to plain bread and butter, Not unlike a rheumatic heart that went aflutter. When the aroma of fresh, crunchy popcorn Brings memories of your pal Hodgkin, you know pathology has gotten under your skin. Strawberries and mulberries, worth a lick, Give you a biliary and renal colic; The redcurrant jelly gives an ache in the belly, you know the matter ain't so silly. Swiss cheese with a dash of nutmeg, buff coloured buns with fried egg, Chicken wire and mutton leg; leave us alone, please, they beg ! Let's be original, rising above the culinary level, Lest we battle indigestion in the bowel, making us moan, groan and cry, and ending up as a “row of tombstones” against a “starry sky” !
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