Music and Texts of Gary Bachlund



Milk made sour

                  A milk maid made milking all at ease, quick fingers did as fingers please, one and two and back to one for doing such made barnyard's fun. The milk maid's lively dairy air was among life pleasures one could share, excepting a farm hand's muscled ass would hang around too oft, alas. The milk maid's stool was firm and stout, and she would drag it all about to plop in the midst of the barnyard hay, squeezing her milk white roundelay. The milk made soured when left to sit, lured insects all about to flit. That buzzing married to the heat proved summertime scents were not effete.
                  Humidity's cupidity closed in on us as smarting stupidity made its fuss. The joke of the farmer's daughter's lure was tempered not by the bull manure. One horsed around, one rationaled while on one's guard to not be corralled. Bridle bowers in leather worn depict a barnyard scene to scorn.
                  Milk maid soured by sour milk would turn her rage on others ilk like the farm hand who had yet to come which chafed a bit with tedium.


Copyright © 2012 by Gary Bachlund