Poison

They think young men her strangest interest;
She has young ladies too: they make a noise;
The village gossips on them to digest
A poisoned furore – boys are not boys,
When led on by that libertine in charge:
There is a stink in such vulgarity;
The house is closed, so neighbours cannot barge
Their noses in and sit down there to tea;

So, they invent shenanigans to fill
The parish chronicle and notice board,
And any scandal sheet they might distil
In the bar lounge, where victories are scored
With chalk, as darts are loaded and will land
Inaccurately, suiting her command.