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I try and try and try, alas, ‘tis naught -
My heart was no more fashioned to find love
Than these my hands to craft a porcelain duck!
When first I came to look upon a man
With eyes not chaste, a maid of sixteen years,
I shocked myself with thoughts of wild cavorting,
Of golden moments savoured one on one,
Positions hard to achieve, frantic gruntings,
Yelps; all was in my mind sublime; but now
I find no proof but of what appalls me –
O shameful truth, most unbearable loss,
That man’s embrace should be such total dross
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intensive farming
