Poetry

I met a maid who tamed a philomel -
A likely Kelly knitting tufty prayers,
A fairy piccoloist piping airs
Behind the hayricks in a cozy dell.
The bird, he huffs his plumes into a swell;
And taken by his tune all unawares
The tawny swain who shucks the vetchling tares
Mistakes that music for his dinner bell.
The rube aside, the maid departs her hose
And ties them streaming to the yokel's plow.
Come stumbling back, he nuzzles with his nose,
Then lets the golden zephyrs graze his brow.
She plays this prank on all the Romeos -
Delighted, purring softy, even now.