Under an oak like a passion parade,
Delicious Alicia and Sarah would wade
Up to their thighs in the bubbling brook,
One gathering flowers, one reading a book.
Alicia´s delice were her eyes made of jade,
And Sarah´s hair fluttered like spilt orangeade:
Their blouses were gaped by a curious breeze,
And not knowing they did it, the temptresses teased
A bailiff in gaiters who sat on a stile
Watching them bathe with a covetous smile.
As they rounded a corner he thrust out his chin,
Leaned out from his perch on the stile and fell in.
When his face struck the water he cried out in fear,
Till the girls of his dreams nursed him over the weir.
The book was neglected, the flowers denied
As the girls and the bailiff did sport in the tide.
And there on a beach where the driftwood doth pile,
From where he had fallen full many a mile,
The face on the corpse bore the trace of a smile,
That´s the tale of the mermaid - country-style.