In hidden folds of cloth and skin,
Lies life's creation, deep within.
Two orbs, they hang, in silent sway,
A testament to night and day.

In quiet moments, they abide,
In warmth and darkness, side by side.
A source of life, of strength, of might,
Yet oft unseen, veiled from sight.

From whispers soft to passions wild,
They hold a secret, undefiled.
In tales of love and tales of woe,
They play their part, both high and low.

Though oft the subject of crude jest,
Within their form, we find our quest.
For life itself, in them contained,
A sacred trust, by nature ordained.

So let us not in jest demean,
The vessels where life's dreams convene.
In testicles, a tale untold,
Of life's great mysteries, behold.