A maid once mounted a donkey in heat, Driven by lust and desire's fierce beat. She had trained that male beast well, To serve her needs, as stories tell. A trick she used—a crafty old crone—Made a hollow gourd, shaped like bone. She placed it midway on the beast’s length, To shield her womb from the donkey’s strength. For if the full shaft were to enter in, Her guts and womb would tear from within. The donkey grew thin, his strength now low, The lady puzzled—why this sorrow? She took him to...

A maid once mounted a donkey in heat, Driven by lust and desire's fierce beat. She had trained that male beast well, To serve her needs, as stories tell. A trick she used—a crafty old crone—Made a hollow gourd, shaped like bone. She placed it midway on the beast’s length, To shield her womb from the donkey’s strength. For if the full shaft were to enter in, Her guts and womb would tear from within. The donkey grew thin, his strength now low, The lady puzzled—why this sorrow? She took him to...