Does your heart hang low

In my previous post, I mentioned that I hadn’t posted anything for the past two months, not even something utterly inane. Making up for this, here is a bit of doggerel that came into my head when I was out walking one day last November. 

When the first verses came to me, I was still unsure about whether or not my friend Kinga would pull through a serious medical event. I am not so sure what the irreverence of this ditty says about me. All I know is that in times of need, I often turn to black humour, and also that each time that I sang this silly song as loud as I could, that I did feel much better.

You can substitute any organ of your choice. After all, my father used to call this stage of our lives, The Organ Recital. Liver, stomach, heart, brain, colon – you name it. The song is best sung loudly, with little concern for dignity. With lyrics such as this, how could dignity even matter?

2013. Kinga waiting for me to fetch the car - post Folk Fest.

Does your heart hang low

Does your heart hang low?
Does it wobble to and fro?
Can you tie it in a knot?
Can you tie it in a bow?
Can you throw it o'er your shoulder
Like a continental soldier
Does your heart hang low?

Does your heart stand high?
Does it hit you in the eye?
Does it cease when it’s wet?
Does it quicken when it’s dry?
Can you shout out to your neighbour
With a minimum of labour?
Does your heart stand high?

Does your heart flip-flop?
Can you use it as a mop?
Is it stringy at the bottom?
Is it curly at the top?
Can you use it for a swatter?
Can you use it for a blotter?
Does your heart flip-flop?

Does your heart stick out?
Can you waggle it about?
Can you flap it up and down
As you drive around the town?
Can you drive it in a car
When you’re feeling like a star?
Does your heart stick out?