The woods that day were fairly wet;
thick fog hung in the air.
She’d left before we’d eaten yet;
we did not know her whereabouts…
Although her coat lay on the rail,
her boots upon the stair,
we guessed she must have walked the trail
down to the lake, or thereabouts.
We grabbed her coat, her boots, some food,
and searched for hide or hair,
and when we found her, she was nude –
her skin, her only wear-abouts!
Too smug and flushed in our steamed clothes,
we laughed. “Was this a dare?”
She smiled. “A dare…? I don’t suppose
You’d join me? Don’t be stare-abouts!”
We gulped, and it began to rain.
Our garb we did compare,
and quickly heaved off drenched constraint
to run with derrière-abouts,
and laughed and whooped and jumped and splashed
and sang without a care,
for we became, quite unabashed,
fanatic forest bare-abouts!
nudescribe 