Innocents We

Their long skirts and high heels battled away: Depending on the ground’s and breezes’ whim, At times some stocking shone, low on the limb— Too soon concealed!—tickling our naïveté. At times, as well, an envious bug would bite Our lovelies’ necks beneath the boughs, and we Would glimpse a flash—white flash, ah! ecstasy!— And glut our mad young eyes on sheer delight. Evening would fall, the autumn day would draw To its uncertain close: our belles would cling Dreamingly to us, cooing, whispering Lies that still set our souls trembling with awe.