A Yorkshire Tale
Yorkshire, 1914
I patch mended her copper saucepan,
Edged an axe, two cleavers and a knife.
I did all the jobs that were required.
By this comely young farmer’s wife.
She served me a platter of rare beef
With chunks of home baked bread,
And along each large slice of meat
Relish of horseradish was spread.
She served me there in her kitchen
Sat me at a large wooden bench
As I watched all around the room
A young and fine buxom a wench.
She slid on my knee quite suddenly
And I held her there in my arms.
For how could any young man
Refuse an offer of such charms
She kissed my mouth with a passion.
She kissed me with a lust and desire,
That set may pulses off racing
That set my whole body on fire.
I held her for all of that evening
And most of that coming night,
Enjoying the play of our passion
The pleasure and sheer delight.
She served me a farmhouse breakfast.
For which my whole body yearned.
Eggs and home slaughtered bacon
Bread, and butter near freshly churned
I held her once more in that kitchen
In thanks for the love we had made
Then out to follow my fortune,
A wandering Jack of all Trade.
I could hear Shires in the stable
That fine November’s morn
As I set off on my journey
Just at the crack of dawn.
I strode away quite briskly
Down that winding cart track,
My body so pleasantly sated,
Possessions slung over my back.
Oh how I so love this my freedom
To enjoy while there’s still chance
For I reckon it’ll soon be the recruiter
And a spell in the trenches of France.
Maybe this really happened.
I wonder did he survive
The carnage of that bitter war
To come back whole and alive.
Yorkshire 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
