The Picnic in the Wood
It was Sunday, after vespers
In the town of Montauban,
Where the Seminary Deacons walked
Along the tree-lined strand,
While two girls were sipping latté
At the Café Belle Amie,
Watching all the black-robed brothers
As they passed, but covertly!
‘Don't you think he's very handsome? '
Sighed the girl called Mirabel,
As the brother Michael passed them,
Turned his head, and gave a smile,
While Georgette had sat and giggled,
Put her hand up to her mouth:
‘Don't you think it's rather wicked,
Tempting priests to break a vow! '
Mirabel had raised an eyebrow
And stared archly at her friend,
‘Isn't that the main attraction,
Tempting vows that never mend?
I once overheard my mother
Tell her sister, Aunt Denise,
‘You will never know seduction
If you've not seduced a priest! ''
It was autumn in the country
And the leaves lay all around,
Making pathways sere and golden
With their passing, on the ground,
And the woods that lay by Montauban
Were like some lovers' dell,
That these girls had often wandered,
And the nooks, they knew too well.
When Mirabel had smiled, coquettish
At the novice priest,
He'd stopped, and turned to join them,
Chatted low, but quite at ease,
‘I have filled a picnic basket,
Pink champagne and sweet baguettes,
I intend to go tomorrow,
Come along, and be my guest.'
Then he pointed to the pathway
That led deep into the wood,
‘We can have a pleasant day of fun,
And stuff ourselves with food;
I have seven different cheeses
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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