As though the breeze would carry
Her words across the sea
Right from within this cosy bower
To some far away places
And be heard also in the palace
Of the Queen of England,
When she whispered to me--my grand--
Delightful dame, in the raw:
"Art thou a one-trick pony
In play, my stallion honey?"
"Nay!" quipped I with guffaw.
I can mount fore and aft,
Thy fount, as it's apt.
Then did I turn on the shower--
The showers of blessing on her with care
From the station she did to me declare.
And therefrom I did hence perspire,
Besides, in deference to her soul's desire.