Ode to Florence

Captain's bLog: 18 weeks.

Welcome, friends, to Florence
Home of the Renaissance
Where you will soon discover
A rather shocking lack of pants.

The modern folks of course have clothes
But nearly everywhere you look
You'll find peering, one-eyed, back at you
A knob in every nook.

The abundance is astounding
To be believed it must be seen
The sheer, profuse variety
Of artistic EuroPeen:

   There's ivory and wood and bronze
   Alabaster, plaster, paint
   Assorted multi-media schlongs
   Hercules' marble taint.

   Endless paintings, untold sculpts
   In the round and in relief
   Countless gargoyles, every fount:
   That classic trouser snake motif.

   Jupiter, Neptune, Cupid, Pan
   Hercules fighting All the Things
   Angels, demons, Vitruvian Man
   Even Jesus' holy ding-a-ling.

   The work is lovely, I do concede,
   So perhaps I'm just unsophisticated,
   But does the world truly need
   Another reprodicktion David?

Forgive my logical phallus-y
But all the pecker-centric art created
In the Renaissance sure makes it seem
As if folks then were just... really naked.

If everyone's firehoses were flying free  
I have so many questions
Like, what did they ever do about
Spontaneous erections?

And if not while warring or wrestling lions,
I wonder, under what rare circumstance 
Might they have felt exposed enough
To finally consider pants?

Whatever the answers, I can attest,
As I have thoroughly taken stock,  
That romantic, inspiring, intellectual Florence
Is also chock-a-block with cock.