Head in a Hatch




A humble head
In a humble hatch
With a humble demeanour to match.
All he can see
Are his gaolers’ feet
Which his lips must humbly greet.

His neck is sore
At the bottom of the door
Yet still he yearns for more.
For his only respite
Is the wonderful sight
Of his gaoler’s socks – so bright.

What a wimp and a fool
As he kneels in the dirt
Begging not to be hurt.
For he knows the sting
Of his gaoler’s whip
Which hangs from her shapely hip!

She pushes his head
Back into his cell
Back into his living hell.
And leaves with a grin
On her pretty face
As the ruler of this lonely place.

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