Lady Chatterley's Lover

Her limbs are numb, she's lost in her private self,
doesn't want to be here at all.
There's no saving grace at Wragby Hall

A husband back from the war, he can't reach her
in his new wheelchair; we can say in the doldrums
and down in the dumps, not in good shape.

If this is field and country, then it is not good tillage,
not sustainable in her vulnerable state.
Connie's feeling a sad loss.

Needing tranquility, a walk in the woods,
seeing the gamekeeper stripped to the waist
A notion slowly takes hold;

melting her womb like the cooped up young bods
absolutely amazed by the transformation
Connie's finally lost for words.

Her baronet father saw her slowly dying on the vine.
She should take a lover on her trip to Italy
Connie it's your life, you're the boss.

Visits to the man in the hut who fills her with a yearning
coming out of her stable now like a proud yearling
radiant like the bluebells and the snowdrops

Here's a rider who pulls out all the stops
allowing her flanks to be stroked as she clips and clops
Connie's back on her high horse.