woven along seventy fourth clear stream,
with silky threads and was without a seam,
under cloudless skies and shining gleam.
The route to the paradise,
was rugged and ol' but smooth was our ride,
the fiery redhead that hitchhiked was by my side,
and her smile made the tan worth the ride.
Stopped at the ol'd tavern that served rome's aov,
drinks got scaled and glasses toppled,
the hunger pangs on the italian moon were cleared,
and before we hit the road again, a smile peered!
The night we spent in a pompous motel,
the red head slept in peace and I thought of the ringing bell.
The next moning at thirty past seven,
she said, "manna from heaven."
Hit the road and drove to the refuge,
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