It seemed the very sunlight shamed,
Half-holding from the exhibition room,
Yet on her shapely legs it flamed
To leave her face and upraised hands in gloom.
And as she swiftly spun, it tightly spiralled round
Her naked body, like a snake, then fell to ground
And was lifeless.
With the silence broken by the beat
Of music pounded on the door,
And the softened shuffling of her feet
Scraping on the hard, bare floor,
While like castanets, the clacking of her finger ...
For her no joy in this endeavour
Bought by men whose lustful, bulging gaze will linger
Until it scar her soul forever.
So must the poor besmirch the Spirit
To ensure continuance of it.