A Fine Lass, And Her, Heine. Poem by Michael Gale

There once was a lass that loved the land of the Briney...
Her rear was sweet, and quite the shapely, cute Heine.

When she, down the street, would walk...
She made the men, gawk, instead, they, to talk.

But when she would jiggle...
Between the men's, legs, things would stiffen and wiggle.

To her place, the men, would assemble, a long line ny...
And fight for her hand, and suffer quite a few, eye's-shiny.