Walking fingers took a tour
On bare land but not barren.
A ticklish trek, that's for sure.
For no clothing was she wearin'.
 
Light steps across two robust mounds
These fingers reached their peaks
Ascent so smooth, rapture abounds
At the summit with gentle tweaks.
 
They travelled taut tummy terrain
Taking care not to tickle,
But flashed fast past that flesh plane
And impressed not a mickle.
 
Much farther south things got hot.
Fingers fought through dense bush
To find a fluvian furrow not
Far from the fabled Land of Tush.
 
In that valley of delightful shame
They found growing a glowing stump,
Genus Clitoris was its Latin name
Its common, vulgar term:'the hump'.
 
Flailing fingers made their way
Into this sweet flesh vale
And there they linger to this day.
That's the climax of this tale.