My eleventh day of Christmas has romance, longing, and a bit of suspense.
Temptress Eve-she does not lend
Matrimony of love-she does not send
Pine needles of Christmas past-they neither bend
Presents from the heart-she feverishly spends
How does love taste on her tongue?
A berry whose juices rot in her lungs
Queen of the pipers, eleven men fancy
But music does not provoke her heels dancing
Murmur of the heart-can it rise?
By all estimations she’s surprised
To find her love brimming with affection
Her spirit guided in a new direction
