Love's Barbs

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I feign would tremble when my skirt gets caught 

on barbs, no nimble fingers exercised by him ,

us both stuck fast, exceedingly o'er-wrought,

and soon the very sun is growing dim.

As I preserve my pallor in the shade,

back to the fumbled barb he goes and goes.

Thank heaven for the coolness of this glade,

for where he stands, his perspiration flows.

An afternoon's dithering I shall retell as lies,

as one who knoweth well the Blarney stone,

while every romantic thought between us dies,

him sweltering under my ever-cooling tone .

Finally he frees the torn and wretched lawn;
bowing stiffly, he could not be more quickly gone. 

LOL. For Bjorn's prompt at Toads: to write Bout-Rimes, with end rhymes of the selected words: caught, him, got, dim, shade, goes, glade, flows, lies, stone, dies, tone, lawn, gone. I actually enjoy writing sonnets, but decided to go with humour this time, after a plodding day at my desk, all glum and serious. I substituted oer-wrought for got, because it just sounded more sonnet-like. The lawn referred to is the material often used in skirts and dresses for M'Lady.