An Interlude

 
My love is of the wild wood  
the wild ,wild wood and free .
Gossamer green her robe  
resting on her shoulders  
tumbling at her feet  
dancing on  mossy logs  
riding them like centaurs.  
Ivory thighs for those in favour.  
hidden behind an apple tree.  
Divest  coarse work clothes,  
boldly step from out its shade  
to the elfin form and soft green moss.  
She does not stir    ...   ...   ... waits,  
takes me on her thigh   ...   ...   ...  
holds me tight to make us one.  
Holds my head in supple hands,  
becoming harlot to my wishes.