oh, but one  innocent young lass
quoted here , in her longing cries
her plaintive sighs, must be at last
remembered if but for her eyes
her form of function, her knowing glance,
her  heart beating hell from betwixt her thighs,
a breast awaiting the lad
in firm anticipation, her lips moistened
with desires, the night
counts every beat, of heart and breast
and in between, her song
is sung in wishful prayers
and pacing loathing,
every second
she stands waiting
counting
heartbeats