The Gentleman invited (he thought) a refined Lady to dine.
On roast leg of lamb and an excellent French wine.
Glazed carrots and peas added colour to digest,
he awaited with ease the arrival of his guest.
However...
She sat down wearing nought but a slip of red lace.
The Gentleman remained calm and the look on his face.
Portrayed nothing of what the Gentleman did feel.
That the lace clung to shape, form and bosom revealed.
However...
His countenance was tested when her hand brushed his thigh,
in veins his blood pounded felt the tightening of his tie.
He held onto his honor whilst devouring the roast.
Then, raising his glass - Smiling; he delivered a toast.
'To the woman in red lace who arouses my senses,
her motive of wearing, has immense consequences.
No pudding served could quench my base desire,
for this Woman in red lace, to Hire and Retire'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem