Loose Limerick Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

On the days that she wore a blond wig
she permitted herself just one cig.
Soon both dropped to the floor
and she shouted 'no more',
neither wig nor the cig were too big.

She was tight-lipped all over, and young.
And preferred when a man used his tongue.
Walking soft like a hick
he did carry a shtick*
liked to use it because he was hung.

They were matched like a pair made in Heaven.
And they lived in the rich part of Devon.
But an entry too small
may still take one that's tall
but in thickness he measured at seven.

Note: Walking softly doesn't always mean that he carries a BIG stick.

*shtick is Yiddish for the German Stock (bâton in French)