Birdsong

Birdsong won't intervene when she is dragged
Across his lap, behind the teasels dried
By Winter sun, as discipline is flagged
To be the thing that he had not denied
Her, in these winter days, when signs of Spring
Were there, but yet to flourish; though its tap
Was heard upon the door; since it could bring
A warmth that would outdo the spanks and slap
Which he accords her arse and, then, her face,
Which both deserve attention, for her rump
Was his; and he would mark her cheeks to taste
This morning idyll; if he were to pump
Her flesh really quite hard, would it be wrong
For chastisement to drown out dawn's birdsong?