There once was a lass from Brno,
who thought all men she did know.
But when she met me--
Her! I drove up a tree.
And she teased me a man with her show!
At the tree I gazed up as one should,
and I saw what everyone could.
There in little distress,
a shorter wonder-filled dress,
she promised me whatever I would.
For my view she backed the way down
to my waiting arms all around.
But against my delight,
she took a quick flight,
and escaped away to the town.
After I turned and that way I ran
as fast and faster--I can--
but when she got home,
I was left all alone.
So thus with my song I began.
She looked out the bed window
and said 'I'll not be a widow.
Climb the vine to me.
We can play like we're we.'
Sooo . . . went up for a jolly good go!
We two we trans-sported our love
until fate looked down from above.
He's a nasty old trickster.
Sad, I'm not longer with her.
She's back up her tree, a dove.
The moral you see--drive no girl up a tree,
for there you ne'er get what you see.
It's better to know
how things usually go.
For then you will like her--be free!
_____
* A Valentine's poem for . . . someone.
