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.