>>1930886Thou hole! Thou lurid, lusty hole!
The spreading cherry bares her soul!
She spills her lobed and liquid lips
And bids the sap rise ‘tween my hips.
What fleshy knots arouse my sense
To sweet bilabial recompense?
Fair hole! Oftimes I’ve walked alone
In verdant forests overgrown
To flee the soured memory
Of woman’s love fast-fled from me.
‘Twas all for naught! For now I see
The fairest holes do grow on trees!
While woman's form but grows distressed,
And hangs in sad cascades of flesh.
Those teats that gravity once cheated,
In time must flop to earth defeated.
Yet thou, sweet hole, make’st my mood lighter
To think next year, thou wilt be tighter!
I would that I had wood enough
To stuff inside thy mossy muff.
I’d strip thy bark, I’d tap thee, tree.
I’d poke thy precious chokecherry.
Or would I choke thy pokeberry?
It matters not! Thy hole’s for me!
--Arthur Greenleaf Holmes, 1586
