An Irish Lass Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The preacher, who was dressed in green
appeared short-winded, on the scene.
He'd had a helping of pink gin
which God did not regard as sin.
The Devil though had been a guest
and drawn a vision of the breast
with all its soft and luscious silk
the image of sweet human milk.
And there, in Aberdeen's own mud
she rested, covered by red blood.
His pupils widened as he knelt
and timid fingers shyly felt
beneath the blouse of cotton blues
for signs of life and God's own dues.
And with a cry of sheer despair
he placed his lips into her hair
then slid, with loving gentle moves
down to those warm familiar grooves.
And rested on her nipple's rose
his tear-stained cheek and grieving nose.
Townspeople soon left them alone
their secret pact would not be known.