Summer 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 3 Poetry |

My Dear He Dress in Scarlet

My dear he dress in scarlet And hunt the ambling deer, My dear he wear a number pressed Upon his beauteous back, just here, And hunt the deer with license. Oh dear, my dear, dress scarlet I, And hunt we shall together, Through the swift birch we flee and fly, And twist with paths of leather, And come where buck and doe must die. Oh scarlet love, you've wounded me, But I will die with pleasure. In scarlet cloth you've hunted me, And found me at your leisure, And license gives you leave to kill,   But count me, but count me.

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