a tropher found Grau
and everywhere lay his fawn
while love's artifice dig chéri
and orient this earth that desire weather

and while out on the horizon he'll dust the farm
but still pond a sparrow 'bout to splatter its bath
in a morning of lust that soon will burn off

with an intent lasting sheen
fore the hour drive to town
as his roads are the ride
amid this country has made her shine
that always ponder the air on such afternoons
only to purchase a bottle of her perfume
then pleasantly he'll puncture the throttle
with a just look in her garden.