Beautiful Fall

How beautiful the stubble is, depends
Upon the way a wench catches the sun,
When she is pushed right over; she upends
Herself, when she knows that I have begun
To want to spank her hard in this bare field,
Both buttocks need to feel my palm right now;
And she can sigh, knowing her fate is sealed;
And grit her teeth; for I will have no row
To disturb me, as I ensure she earns
Each mark that she's deserved all summer long;
So, when I spank her flesh, all feeling turns
To discipline and righting all the wrong
That she knows every movement made will fuel:
Her chastened form - my harvest - beautiful.