We tumbled down the mountain in a ball of laughing joy;
She was Mrs. Robinson and I was Jack the boy.
Arms and legs all tangled as we rolled and whooped and laughed.
The farmer saw us hurtle by – he thought us bold and daft.
But neither of us cared for we had found a place to share;
A secret glade in which to lie and breathe the fragrant air.
The glade was half the distance from the hilltop to the town;
A flat plateau of secret bliss; a natural eiderdown.
We landed in the roughage at the entrance to our nest,
And once our panting laughter had subsided we undressed.
Naked in our haven we lay close as we could get . . .
