Searching both far and wide,
Finding, at last, his formaldehyde.
A jerrycan of this preservative solution,
Disinfectant too, to get rid of pollution.
Said he, “I want to preserve my figure.”
Those about, all began to snigger.
Yes, they did hold back a suppressed laugh,
For he had a figure like a giraffe.
Such long legs, and long, stretched neck,
“I don’t want to get fat, but what the heck!”
“I think that, if I bathe in formaldehyde,”
“My legs will remain lithe, I’ll have a long stride.”
“And, should I inadvertently pass away,”
“I’ll be pickled in preservative, that very day!

Formaldehyde, an embalming ingredient,
Used in days of yore, a preserving expedient!
Preserving the peace, a noble objective!
Preserving a piece of me, no need for invective!
Piecemeal, piece by piece, a worthy goal.
A distinctive part of a composite whole.
A “Piece De Resistance” a most important item,
Make a point of it, stoutly, ready to fight ‘em.

Now, living in a preservation society,
The drinking of hard liquor doesn’t lead to sobriety.
But raw alcohol does prevent decomposition,
Even if it doesn’t add to nutrition.

Now Horace Hodpodge didn’t, in a grave, want to hide.
So he went out to procure more formaldehyde.
“When I do pass from this “mortal coil,”
“I’ll want you, in formaldehyde, my body to boil.”
“Then, in a large jar, you can place me,”
“On exhibition, for all the world to see!”