That sympathy smile If you asked, they'd run a mile Although some do like our niche A certain obscure taste to brag Whilst eating their celery quiche We sometimes fit a perverts kick Another box for them to tick Sorry you're ill, but we like them sick That hospital smell, exquisite, and not in good nick Are we last in line as easier to reach That smell of disinfectant mixed with toilet bleach But love does come in strange shapes and sizes Some wear a mask, for gain in disguises Others see it through, a rock in your crisis No matter the option, No matter what procedure, if going under the knife To always hold your hand The person you love, will be there for life