  Dedicated to my Ex-Pier. One pious afternoon in June When pyronomics held full sway, My pilot, fancy, led me on To seek new fields, piebald and gay. The pianet rested in shade, The lark, piano-voiced, sang not, But pining for some genial maid To pioneer me to a spot, Where pine or oak might shield from heat, My thoughts turned piously to where Pierian pleasures one might meet, And pious converse jointly share. Pyrometers were all at home— No doubt the figures mounted high— She sighed and said she could not roam, Then pitt (i) ed me with cherry pie. Piacular may she not be, And thus escape the eternal pyre, No pirate's heart would dance with glee Like mine, to see that maid—Ex-Pier. |
|
