Euthansia without Gregariousness
How often have I pruned a tree
Then bent you over my knee
And caned you with the branch I cut
And said, "you naughty little slut."
How often have a tuned a lute
Then played a sad, sweet song, of fruit
And wiped away a solemn tear
And yearned for onion-flavored beer
But then my thoughts return to you
And those wild things we do
My heart's a-flutter and loins a-sputter
As I picture you drenched in butter
Contributors: | Francine, archaeopteryx, Kansas Sam, P, Karin. |
Poem finished: | 17th July 2003. |