There once was a fellow named Tim,

who was really, put politely, quite dim.

He had a problem with the size of his feet,

wanted them dainty and tidy and neat.

One day, a renowned doctor friend,

told Tim he was headed round the bend.

Wrote a prescription for an incredible shrink,

who was paid to just sit there and think.

He said “um and ah and well…

I see the problem, the solutions quite swell!”

Sitting up from his leathered arm chair,

he fixed poor Tim with a stare.

“Go home and fill up your belly,

with chocolate and doughnuts and jelly.

And bread and potatoes and meat,

’til your belly starts to swallow your feet.”

Tim followed docs orders to a tee,

soon the evidence he could literally see.

His feet being eaten away,

were half their size by the middle of May.

Now he walks tall, full of pride,

not behind leather nor canvas will he hide.

His rapidly vanishing feet,

now dainty and tidy and neat.

One last problem he took to the shrink,

paid him again to just sit there and think.

“I have it,” doc said his eyes shut,

“don’t get that fine hair of yours cut.”

“It’ll grow right into your eyes,

chopping that belly to half it’s fine size!”