She weaved tapestries, sang, played the lute,
But her husband-to-be, the damn brute,
Had requested her hand
To get hold of her land,
And then lock in a tower and root!
Tag: root
Jumbo
“God!” she said. “Though one cannot dispute
That was rather a marvellous root,
(May I have some more wine?)
Your prick’s elephantine!
One was stretched like a hindoo mahout!”
Fuzzy bare
Her shaved pussy had sprouted some fuzz;
When she touched it, it gave her a buzz.
It might not look so cute,
When it came to a root,
But she’ll just please herself (which she does!)
The lay of the land
“Well”, she said, as she fiddled and fussed
With her petticoats. “Likely, I trust,
You’ll be wanting a root.
So, get out of that suit,
And get on with it then, if you must!”
His saving grace
The damn fellow by whom she’d been pestered,
By whom, in fact, one night molested,
She told “Though it’s moot,
If you weren’t a good root
I’d have probably had you arrested!”
The bride stripped bare
In the honeymoon suite, while undressing,
She said to herself, “Well, I’m guessing,
He’ll want his root now,
But he’s drunk, anyhow,
And might not get it up. What a blessing!”
Zen and the art of marriage maintenance
Sunday mornings they’d lie in till ten,
Have a root, cup of tea, root again.
Something more than habitual,
Almost a ritual,
Sacred almost. Sort of Zen.
Opportunity knocking
At sixteen, still a virgin (though barely),
Life treated her bloody unfairly,
She thought, with a pout,
Having once more missed out,
When the chance of a root came so rarely!
Sarsaparilla
He pulled over, said “Want a root, dear?”
She cried “We can’t have a root here,
With cars driving by!”
Then she started to cry.
“Aww”,he said “then I’ll have a root beer.”
Window dressing
Miniskirt, halter, stockings of mesh,
Maiden offering, smooth, shining flesh!
Breasts as firm as ripe fruit,
His to have and to root!
Perhaps virginal, tender and fresh!