Reynardine

One morning as I rambled among the springing thyme,
I overheard a young woman converse with Reynardine.

Her hair was black and her eyes were blue, her lips as red as wine,
And he smiled as he looked upon her, did this sly bold Reynardine.

She said, 'Young man, be civil, my company forsake,
For it's to my good opinion I fear you are a rake.'

'Oh no, my dear, I am no rake brought up in Venus' train.
But I'm searching for concealment all on the lonesome plain.'

Her rosy cheeks and her ruby lips they lost their bloom so fine,
And she fainted into his arms there all on the mountain high.

He kissed her once and he kissed her twice till she came to again,
And at that she kindly asked him, 'Pray tell to me your name.'

'Well, if by chance you look for me, perhaps you'll not me find,
I'll be in my green castle, enquire for Reynardine.'

Sun and dark she followed him, his teeth so bright did shine.
And he led her over the mountain, did that sly bold Reynardine.


copyright 2011 Brocc