The Farmer's Daughter

I was one of the few very lucky ones,
Allowed to feel your small firm melons.

Without a lot of money or any social power,
You let me wet your delicately beautiful flower.

Even though I never wrote you an amazing ballad,
You asked me to thoroughly toss your salad.

Although you did not let me tickle,
I think you miss the feel of my pickle.

Now, on almost every dull Sunday,
I remember our fun rolls in the hay.

I remember your extraordinary tush,
And long to tug on your kempt bush.

Moonshine/whiskey we would chug,
As I ran my fingers through your rug.

Some people think it’s boring farms-
Those boys never knew your charms.