The Donor Poem by Phil Soar

I have a little donor card
I keep it by the bed
The Doctors then could chop me up
if they should find me dead
I don't mind what they used me for
Provided it was painless
I hope they don't look in my head
In case they find it brainless
My eyes could go for corneal grafts
My lungs to cancerous smokers
My kidneys might be useful too
My ribs might work as pokers
My heart could help some poor old soul
My feet to those with bunnions
My liver to the staff canteen
To be mixed in with the onions
My prostrate gland and Pancreas
Could help someone who's pale
My scrotum could be plaster cast
And be used by a homeless snail
I hope all of my useful bits
Can help rather than hinder
I'd rather they were used again
And not burnt to a cinder!