Round of Poetry
Lasses
Red nails they wear,
Red as their lips and hair,
Bloody red dresses.
Beware, beware.
Of those lips and hair,
your blood will shine nicely upon their bodies.
“Redcap!” you’ll swear,
And oh, how dare,
They prefer the term, ‘lasses’.
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Admirers
They watch from afar,
They wish to be where you are,
Smiling as they watch.
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Mountian woman
She skips and she sways,
O’er the mountains she plays,
on her journey to her husband.
When she walks through the door,
she covers her face in fake horror,
at the mangled corpse of her husband.
The police mill about,
one sees her and shouts,
“This man was your husband!
Do not fear, my dear,
we police are here,
we’ll find who killed your husband!”
“He?” She cries, pulling the officer over,
“Oh no, he had a lover!
It was her, she bled my husband!”
Tears in her eyes,
she lets out an awful cry,
wailing for her husband.
“She skipped and she swayed,
O’er the mountains she had played,
on her way to screw my husband!”
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