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The Showing of The Ankle

Now dashing Sir Giles was a smarmy old geezer
Bold with the women, he knew how to please ‘em
Money no probs and endowed with good looks
It was easy to get into ladies good books
He cast his sights on one such maiden
Her fair curly hair was heavily laden 
Her cheeks were like rose petals, soft and pink
Lips like moist cherries ready to pick
He decided to ask if she fancied a stroll
She nodded assent and put on her shawl
The day was windy, her dress was billowy 
She succumbed to his charm with tresses flyaway
A look of coyness encouraged his ardor
He couldn’t wait to get her back to his parlor
The path was uneven and hard to traverse
Poor Nancy wore shoes unfit for the course
With fine strong hands he steadied her gait
A freak gust of wind caused her frock to inflate
She shrieked and screamed but it was much too late 
To keep the dress in check, instead it flew up
Her rosy cheeks now a reddish pulp
He gasped in horror, she looked a real sight
His beautiful Nancy now not a delight
The hem of the skirt was right round her waist
Her frilly bloomers were not to his taste
But worse he saw her ankles and legs 
Mottled with veins, ungainly old pegs
Like trunks and all covered with hair
Nancy looked down and started to stare
At the feet of Sir Giles which made him glare
He’d forgotten his socks, it was plain to see
She started to titter with excited glee
At the finest ankles she had ever beheld
Eyes affixed she continued to marvel
The man with (not from) fine ankle in view
To show one’s ankle was indeed taboo

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