In the shimmering garden, the bright verdant green
With the blooming brambles and gay lily flies
The firstborn rains on the leaves, vestal in sheen
Spring in the sounds and dawn in the skies
Though came she from heaven above or down below hell
Whether Lucifer's daughter, or Gabriel's bane
Her Delphian eyes not a one word would tell
Divested of clothes and watching alone
Dark chestnut hair all curled up but free
Prissy red lips and bust fully grown
Crossing her arms and sipping her tea
She spoke all in dolcet to the birds and the trees
Clutching her cup with her matronly hands
She sung at the roses and drank with the bees
Kate in the garden, Kate in the breeze
Long artful legs and celestial skin
Pale freckled face, and standing at ease
Kate the eighth and most deadly of sin
The garden, the creatures all well known to her
On soft darling feet, she stood and she watched
Her loins all abloom with the lushest of fur
Parting her lips and closing her eyes
She reached down her hand to softly caress
Framed by the jay and the sparrows' glad cries
Sighing so softly she daydreamed of love
How alluring was she; who could describe?
Breathing all labored while she cooed like a dove
Her dear feminine body, becoming alive
Filled with serenity and stirring with bliss
Clothed with clear honey, she lifted her hand
All alone in the garden, touched by Spring's kiss
Taking and licking with a sensual pride
Frontwise and backwards, her hand so divine
Dropping the teacup down by her side
She fell to the ground as though drunken with wine
The scent of her sweetness filling the air
She lay in the grass in languished elation
Moving her lips as a woman in prayer
Indulging in rapture, joy, and warmest sensation
Reaching one hand to clutch the green grass
Writhing with pleasure and unfinished lust
Like a birth-giving woman she groaned and she gasped
She would finish, she had to, she must!
Tossing and turning and kicking her feet
Burning within and below she started to flow
Aflame with passion and a lovely flush heat
Full of delight only a woman can know
She cried out in mirth in her paradise
Like a rushing spring brook in crystal and golden
The gates of the Kingdom bursting forth twice
Thus lay she there, unending love & awe beholden
What say you now, voyeur of dearest Kate Anne?
She in her garden, her goddess reprieve
You cannot deny her; not any man can
So let us die softly-though we may yet believe