The girl with bobbing hair so blonde Jogs past on the trail running free Every Sunday, always early. She smiles, nods and is always on Her own, with no dog for safety. Theirs, are they for security? What here, in glorious Devon?
If that’s so, it’s a sad slur on The state of our tourist county. Or are they just for company? Single men you see are common; Who is that lurking in those trees? I’d buy her a faithful puppy; But she smiles, says hi, and runs on.