The Maid on the Hill

The day was dark
the wind was still
no birds flew o'er the deserted hill
But still the man toiled upward still
Determined to reach what lay there.
A sleeping figure,
shrouded in mists,
was the sight that met this
wandering wayfarer's eye
as he went on by.
His curiousity aroused, he struggled
to the top,
and what he saw there made
his square jaw drop.
A sleeping maid! A beauty such as he
had never seen before.
She looked as if her spirit
no longer resided there.
But lo! he saw her still chest
breathe, and air come
whistling out,
of rosy lips that suddenly gave a mighty shout!
So startled was he, he
tumbled down the hill he was atop,
and heard her laugh at his
expense, and then he was wroth.
"How dare thee!" he cried up
to the maiden still sitting there,
and she replied right saucily,
"How dare thee, sir, as well!
You came without permission
to my hill so fair,
and lingered yet a-staring.
I had no choice but to
send you into the air!"
"A pox on thee!" he cried,
and stumbled off,
but the maid she merely
laughed as he fell into
a nearby trough.
The maiden, she howled in childish glee,
to see him flee from the symphony.