Immaculately conceived.

A seven grand nose,

anti gravity boobs,

and an arse as pert

as J lo's.

She played the field

and loved to yield

to a big wad,

or hot hunk.

Fickle, she rejected

those, who lacked

what she expected.

Until her it was,

neglected and alone.

Soon she's back in clover

with a startling new makeover

and bee sting lips all pouting,

up and down.

She played the field

as she was wont

until booze and coke

snorts ravaged.

When botox lost the battle

she drooped into a puddle,

and screwed her hat onto

her raddled brow.

With suitors scarce and doubting,

the next place for investing,

was a plastic knee and

new virginity.

Her tits again said 'Hi men!'

She had a brand new hymen,

but no old rod could

break through

this tight, new flesh.

The wizened chaps who fancied

a jump so rough and rancid,

were too soft

to force the barrier aside.

Intact and so despondent,

she haunts

the care home day room,

with a wandering eye

and wink to draw you in.

The residents are singing

until quiet comes among them

as our triple virgin draws

her final breath.

By a surgeon's skill prodigious,

she returned in death, unopened

after life re-run through wear,

but no last tear.

No more hymns are playing,

the lonely final laying, is

a hearse and sealed up box,

of tails tolled.