It was down by the old babbling brook,
The first time I took a good look,
At my sweet Ermintrude,
Who was sunbathing nude,
In the shade of a willow's cool nook.

At the sight of this handsome young boy.*
Young ermintrude acted so coy,
But I lay by her side
And then she espied,
A part of me that she'd enjoy.

We frolicked there most of the day,
In the warm hazy sun of late May,
Till a youth and his dog,
Creeping near, stole our togs,
And laughingly ran far away.

Now fig trees in England aren't grown,
So we grabbed some sprigs from a rowan,
These using to screen
Things not usually seen,
Shamefacedly we crept back home.

* Yes, I know - but fat ugly git didn't fit.

Tiddy.

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Last updated: Thu, 9 Sep 1999.