The Blatant Brutality of Little Bow Peep

Though she was only a shepherdess,Tending the meekest of sheep,Never was African leopardessCrosser than Little Bow Peep:Quite apathetic, impassiblePeople described her as: “ThatWayward, contentious, irascible,Testy, cantankerous brat!”

Yet, as she dozed in a grotto-likeSort of kind of a nook,She was charmingly Watteau-like,What with her sheep and her crook;“She is a dryad or nymph,” anyCasual passer would think.Poets pronounced her a symphony,All in the palest of pink.

Thus it was not enigmatical,That the young shepherd who firstFound her asleep, in ecstaticalSighs of felicity burst:Such was his sudden beatitudeThat, as he gazed at her so,Daphnis gave vent to this platitude:“My! Ain’t she elegant though!”

Roused from some dream of Arcadia,Little Bow Peep with a startAnswered him: “I ain’t afraid o’ yer!P’raps you imagine you’re smart!”Daphnis protested impulsively,Blushing as red as a rose;All was in vain. She convulsivelyPunched the young man in the nose!

All of it’s true, every word of it!I was not present to peep,But if you ask how I heard of it,Please to remember the sheep.There is no need of excuse. You willSee how such scandals occur:If you recall Mother Goose, you willKnow what tail-bearers they were!

Moral: This pair irreclaimableMight have made Seraphim weep,But who can pick the most blamable?Both saw a little beau peep!