A nudist who, in lieu of fun,
Can lay all day beneath the sun
To toast and roast until well-done,
          I wish that I could be
As I behold them, golden brown,
I itch to pitch my body down
And bake my whole from sole to crown,
          But such is not for me

For I, unlike the chosen few,
When turning, burn like barbeque;
Grow red instead as lobsters do
          At least to third degree
And then my head, like bread, is baking,
Broiling, boiling, roiling, aching,
'Til I'm ill with stomach making
          Moves of mutiny

But those that doze there, disencumbered,
Digesting, resting, often slumbered,
When viewed as nude, in beauty, umbered,
          I'll envy endlessly
And long to lay, like they, receiving
Those rays for days on end, achieving
A body bronze beyond believing
          By dreamers such as me

                        Roy Schaefer