When a pair of red lips are upturned to your own,
With none to gossip about it;
Do you pray for endurance and—leave them alone;
Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
When a shy little hand you’re permitted to seize,
With a velvety softness about it;
Do you think you can drop it, with never a squeeze;
Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
When a tapering waist is in reach of your arm,
With a wonderful plumpness about it;
Do you argue the point ’twixt the good and the harm;
Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
* * * * *