Mother, Will My Stones Drop?

Mother, will my stones drop
Ere I turn twenty-nine?
I tire of this empty sack
Against my hairless thigh.

And when will I awaken,
To find my mattress wet?
It's happened to the other boys,
But I've not known it yet.

And will my wanker bolden?
And shed its pinkish skin?
And will it grow a hairy nest
To spend its evenings in?

And, Mother, what's a clitoris?
And is it hard to find?
My cousin said she'd show me hers,
If I would show her mine.

--Arthur Greenleaf Holmes, 1574