Wild, Wild Women
Don’t fret, sweet neighbour, don’t get snide
if we transgress your border;
us loony crones from the green hillside
don’t care for law and order.
We grow our weeds, we sow our seeds
and flourish bright and gaudy;
we munch our seeds, we smoke our weeds,
our laughter’s loud and bawdy.
We sing and play by night and day,
we lurk in murky copses,
we dance away the roundelay,
we’d love to blow your topses.
Guard well your menfolk, sisters dear,
from Grandpa to the tenderest swain-sprout;
should any of them venture near,
we may fuck his little brains out.
The reed-pipe drones in twilight zones
and makes you feel queerly restless;
the loony crones will rattle your bones,
leaving you hot and breathless.
So count your blessings, count your kills
on either side of your border;
us loony crones from the blazing hills
don’t give a shit for law and order.
If you have any comments on this poem, Jane Røken would
be pleased to hear from you.