The pilgrim, he was weary
For he had travelled far that day
He had left romance behind him
Into the Highlands he madfe his way.
At first he marvelled at the beauty
That his bright sharp eye, espied
But soon his heart grew weary
As he trudged that countryside.
He drew close his cloak around him
When the grey mountain mist came down,
His thoughts turned to that night of love
And that tavern in the town.
He recalled the warmth of the open fire
The buxom wench who had served him ale
The mischievious sparkle in her smile
And of whom, he did himself avail.
He recalled the moments of that evening
And how that ale did spin his head.
The buxom wench that did take his arm
To assist him up to bed.
How she carefully undressed him
And laid him twixt white linen sheet.
Then undressed and came to him
To make his night complete.
He recalled her weight upon his chest
As her voluptuous body, writhed and thrust
The fire in his loins grew
As he was consumed by a burning lust.
Their passion, unrestrained did flow,
Ecstasy was their's that night.
Debauchery was the concerted aim
Until dawn's early light.
And so did that wandering pilgrim's thoughts
Comfort him as he turned, retraced his route.
To seek out once more that comely wench
Perchance to press his suit.
