She walks the streets offering herself for sale. Under her breath calls "Sweetheart," while her eyes Are eloquent of all a saint denies, And her slow feet nor pleasure nor toil avail. So for each fragment of the night, a male Unripe or rotten in her young arms lies -- If, uncaught, she so long her traffic plies -- Hating her bed and fearful of the jail. With day, her work being done, her stocking filled, She hastens home to place her piteous store In slaver hands -- lover, protector, hope. His lust and greed her woman's soul have killed. Slain motherhood lies pallid at her door; And soon her other needs will shrink to dope. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT AMERICA: SONNET 2 by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL RIDDLE: A STAR by MOTHER GOOSE EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 4. THE TIMOROUS ADVENTURER by PHILIP AYRES LINES WRITTEN IN LADY'S ALBUM OF DIFFERENT-COLOURED PAPER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |