A Painted Bird

Indeed, Mr. Frost
He was the fool of books,
And his house stood on a hill,
A long fellow,
And the farmer’s wife
Had eyes for him.
Once raised her yellow
Sun-flowery dress high
Up to her chest,
Bared and flaunted
Her sagging breast.
-Old milk jugs they were.
And though she was twenty
Years his senior
He longed for her
And lost his eyes for it.