Comely Stories

I was once a peasant girl clad in gray rough woven skirt and flour sack blouse; black hair chipped with straw from the pallet on which I'd lain.  Every summer day I picked berries in the lane and you'd ride by in your gilded carriage; wild black and white stallions flailing their mains; champing at their bits.  Your blue eyes stared at me beside parted lace; two more berries I should reap.  When you had gone that day, a f...