Conditional Relenting

We swung beneath the apple boughs,

     In gladsome, rosy June;

‘Twas here we plighted all our vans,

     And listened to love’s tune.

One day she lost her balance quite

     And spilt upon the lawn;

“The fault was yours!” she cried outright,

     Then bade me to be gone.

“How mine?” I asked in agony,

     “I’ll gladly make it right;”

“Then if we swing again,” said she,

     “You’ll please to hold me tight.”

Dec. 12, ‘90

Pub. in

Camb. Press