Fed on milkweed, I did.

Outlast the thorns and hemlock trying to get home.
Dodge the slings and arrows to win your arm.
The nightshade in the mallow. The lead harpoon in the bow.
Gashes in tires won’t do nohow.
The milk skin of my lover is all honey to me,
There isn’t a bed of thicket twixt her and me.

Fed on milkweed all I see is her.
Spread mustard seed for God; I’d just done it for her.
Was “Swing-Down-Chariot,” and “Low-Down-St. Louis,”
It’s just ‘bout her.

I thank Heaven everyday for the maiden I wed.
Those pale-green eyes got in my head.
She carries lemon pound cakes in her back;
Said she’d the ‘seven-year-itch’—
And my mouth went slack.

Fed on milkweed, I did for her.