Wending her way

Wending her way

Five miles of fencing separates each gate,
So she must wend her way to find a stile,
Where she may greet him with her usual smile,
Or lean and hope that she does not await
Civilities and culture by a fence,
When he's diverted in another wood,
And though she came there, as fast as she could,
It would be sad, if she'd no recompense,
For trailing through a dull, green sea of grass,
Her skirts so dampened by the morning dew,
When she had hoped that moisture would ensue
From intercourse, but it would seem, alas,
That she must converse with the morning breeze,
Since he's not here - the man is such a tease!