In Hammockland

The hammock curved beneath the tree,

     A maiden lay therein;

A sweet and charming picture she,

     To wake her were a sin.

Her cheek blushed like the early rose

     Turned to the morning bright;

Her slender hand in graceful pose

     Just added to the sight.

He came and bent above her head,

     And lingered spell-bound there;

He longed to kiss her cheek so red,

     It was so smooth and fair.

He hummed a love tune soft and low,

     Then smacked her with a gulp;

She woke and dealt the thief a blow

     That smashed him to a pulp.

June 11, ‘10