Doctor Chopper was a surgeon, a cut above the rest, who,
with his scalpel, checked up, keeping medically abreast of
all the latest trends and fads, and, as you may have
guessed, is just a fiction of this rhyme, which darkly jokes
Dick Chopper, for great profits' quest, in scrubs would get
srcubbed, dressed to do excisions blithely after each
appropriate test. The latest of trend and fad diagnosed
in the quest which end would be the political one to be
seen as best.
Dr. Chopper, knick-named Dick, with both aplomb and zest
would remove as was required what once had so transgressed.
Gone are the days of patients whose patience did contest
with ancient, crippling social norms which now modernity's
redressed. Come along with passing time and spirits so
possessed of needs met by a slice of life which now has
convalesced. Bandage, salve and drugs suggest that healing
might likely heal the deep depressed. How ends the tale? What great
bequest serves endings which have been confessed to answers which
need not be further finessed? Nuanced in what direction? In
some way transgressed? Ah, how easily one might protest, when
another view turns into a pest.