A lariat draped her broad brown hips,
As she stood and glared with parted lips,
While piercing stitches and maddening shoots
Ran through my body, from brain to boots.
I would have clasped her, but ere I could,
She flung back her hair’s tempestuous hood,
And screamed, in a voice like a tiger-cat’s:
“You’ve gone and ett up my pizen for rats!”
My blood grew limp and my hair grew hard
As the steely tail of the desert pard: