Colleen the domestic wore britches;
MacGregor the gardener wore a skirt.
She was a person who always kvetches,
And he was a roué and a flirt.
He’d stand under her windowpane
And sing lusty, off-color serenades.
She could not herself refrain
Hit him with a jar of pomades.
He keeled over with a loud scream
And lay still, by the light of the moon.
To a nightmare had turned her dream.
She lamented “What hae I doone?”
Bloodied and bruised and in pain,
For his life he almost despaired.
He jumped up neath her windowpane,
And cried, “I knew that ye always cared.”
When he jumped up, however, he hit
His head on her windowpane.
His skull in twain was near split,
Suffering permanent damage to his brain.
.
~ Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)