C'mon we do know better, La Belle Rouge as thrown her glove in the challenge ring to write an answer to her love poem "Summer Storm"
This is my second answer to it.

Riding behind General Lee I was
marching with the Southern proud,
a long line of Gentlemen in gray
gallant Officers of a gallant South,
after been invited to formal supper
by the marbles arches of the House
framed with fragrant magnolia trees,
of starched petticoats whisper sounds
softly throaty laughter of challenge
like the rashly of high above clouds.

Rose-Mae whip in that kitchen of hers,
not eaten ever on Santee River’s sides,
a meal worth the General’s appraisal
as the gentle breeze blew outside
carrying the soundless steps of peace
that righteous men will have for guide,
Gentlemen will honor until the end
and Officers by that table swear to abide,
not a farewell meal may be allowed to say,
but one to praise we still act civilized.

From the table upright we waited for
the ladies to the Tea Room to retire,
as old Jeremiah passed along Cohibas
and young Mamee poured in our glass
that French brandy from wooden barrels
branded with a word saying Cognac,
putting warming fire on the old soul
of a Colonel holding yet a few many rides
but darn! she isn’t here! where she went?
talked about dipping on the river that one.

The Gentlemen had joined their Ladies,
the Colonel, now alone on the veranda
saw a flurry of lavender garment disappear
among the trees leading to the river path,
and looking around to see anyone near,
after her he went, because she was the one
and only, that could bring his heart to a stop,
that beautiful southern-belle from Savannah,
whose handkerchief the Colonel had stolen
long ago, and now to stole her was the time.

Twice he stepped over dry screaming twigs,
he wasn’t a stalker, a raging bull more liked,
for the noises he was making and that she
couldn’t fail to notice, but she had her pride,
fear she didn’t had, knowing the Colonel was
out there, following her every move, waiting,
so when she reached the river shock her head
and under the moon red hair exploded in fire,
he was looking, she was sure, on her back
she was feeling the burning of his hungry eyes.

Coyly and agonizingly slowly her fingers
unlaced her bustier, letting it fall at her side
and with the languorous movements of a
sorceress, garments heaped in a unruly pile,
until there she was in a flimsy cotton chemie
high heeled boots, stocking and a prayer,
pausing, wondering if she should, why not?
shed pantalettes, exposed and naked a star,
a nymph dipping a toe, probing the waters
wishing the Colonel will hurry his attack.

She move knee’s deep into the river’s waters
when small waves told her he was there now,
feeling the warm of his body almost touching,
with her cheeks full of blushing, turned around,
and suddenly she was pressed against his chest
by two powerful but mot tenderly soldier’s arms,
looking up she saw down from his eyes, tears!
the Colonel had but for happiness the only cry
that he could offer in token of love for his Lady,
as a Gray Uniformed Officer and a Gentleman.

More, we certainly will not tell.