Mata Hari Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A Dutch girl, Margaretha named,
Lost fortune, life felt wrongly framed.
Married young, a soldier's wife,
In far lands, she knew hard strife.

Then Paris called, a brand new start,
'Mata Hari, ' played a different part.
An exotic dancer, bold and bright,
Charming men with all her might.

War clouds came, a world at war,
She crossed the lines, and then some more.
A spy, they said, for German side,
But truthfully, perhaps, she tried to hide.

The French believed, a secret foe,
For soldiers lost, a deadly flow.
A trial held, a shadowed room,
Sealed her fate, a coming doom.

No blindfold worn, no final plea,
She faced the guns, for all to see.
A kiss she blew, a graceful stand,
Her story ends in troubled land.

Was she a spy, a wicked tool?
Or just a pawn, a foolish fool?
The questions stay, a mystery's gleam,
Mata Hari, a fading dream.