Lydia

My dearest Lydia hit the dirt.  Donald was not to be found.

I picked her up and put her to the woodshed.

Blasted wind put Lydia face down, laid to rest.  Only to rise up and stand erect in the woodshed. 

She will return, next spring.  Donald will be waiting.

...they made love in mountains, they made love in the streams

they made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams

but when they were finished there was nothing to say

'cause mostly they made love from ten miles away...

Donald and Lydia ~ John Prine