After Church Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

Yes, May and I are friends,
Lovers, many have said;
For down the lane and o'er the lea
To church we often tread,
In that careless sort of way,
That leads to love, they say;
And after church we often search
For garlands by the way.


Yes, May and I are friends,
And something more, they say;
Because along the curved strand,
Where we sat the other day,
I simply wrote her name,
And wrote it o'er again;
When after church we stopped to search
For shells along the main.


More than friends are we,
My bonny May and I;
At least that's what our neighbors say
Whene'er they pass us by,
They smile and wink their eye,
And set their necks awry:
When after church we stop to search
For heart's ease, May and I.