In the annals of time out of history's dark trenches,
Comes the story about lads and their amorous wenches,
Of damsels in distress, maids-in-waiting with dresses
In disarray, as a lover, his great passion professes.
In his heart believing all he tells her is true,
Passion to copulate, his highest will imbue!
Caring not lust's fervor often clouds the male brain,
Conquest clear, all he sees is make out, score again!
To the sire or the stag, to stallion or an ass,
Estrus starts in the nose, Nature's means for a pass;
Not a beast, is a man conveying his love's charm,
He will woo with sweet lies, fired passion's four alarm!
Do not err youngest fair, man will bring you despair;
Conquest's eye yearns to find love again, anywhere!
If it rests on you, return it not, no matter what
Mushy thought should beguile, else become one he got!