A well done rose

And in the garden, all the roses done,
The light lies gently, faint and almost cold.
And falls upon a welted wench who's told
To open up and show him just how one
So lowly loves the taste of Master's cum;
And knows the salty warmth on which she's sold
Is something she craves more and, if she's bold
Enough, she'll beg for more and let it run
Over her chin and down her breasts as well
And into chinks and nooks to make her shake;
And feel as if the cum that soaks her clothes
And decorates her in that woodland dell
Can add to dreams that live on - let her wake
And think again to glimpse a well done rose.