Copyright © 1997 Mark L. Butler
I saw you once at break of day;
You did not have a word to say,
But one "good morn," to last the day;
Across the field you walked away.
I watched you, then, walk out of sight
And hoped with all my will and might
That I might take you in the night,
Your eyes so dark, your breasts so white.
And so I dreamed until one day
You hired me to cut your hay.
You said your husband was away.
That night you asked me if I'd stay.
I looked to east, I looked to west,
The night was cool, the air unblessed.
So, sweating still, in need of rest--
I headed dumbly toward the crest.
"The mountain's high," I heard you say,
"But if you must, then go today.
Though few there are who pass this way,
If you rest not, some other may."
And so I trembled 'neath the might
Of lusty cravings fed by night.
A thousand nerves said all was right,
Though fight I tried with all my might.
A wind came up, then died away;
It seemed my feet were made of clay.
And still I had the will to play,
And so decided that I'd stay.
And so you took me to your breast;
And showed me yet another crest.
And when we finished, took your rest,
Lying east where I lay west.