Beautiful

The countryside is beautiful, but lacks
A final touch, so sir won’t hesitate:
Forget the touches now, rejoice in smacks
And spanks and little pinches; I will ache
For more than verdant fields and flowing brooks
When bent across my master’s wooden desk
And made to shudder deeply as he looks
So sternly at my stern and then divests
Me of silk underwear; yes, I may blush
To think of all he sees as I excite
Myself and go quite pink to feel the rush
Of blood at the embarrassment tonight,
As dusk descends and fireflies will fuel
A sound and light show that is beautiful