The Showing of the Ankle

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