She who begs a boon like a maiden do glow
while dancing she does before the king turn
and in his heart his lust for her does burn
he promises anything on her to bestow
while she turns around on her heal and toe
become under the gaze of men taciturn,
dances almost explicitly and do return
and what to ask of him she does know
while she holds her head high she acts cool
knows that money is a prize far too small
and in lust half of the drunken men do drool,
her eyes before that of the king do meekly fall
while he acts powerful but as the biggest fool
she asks for death the most gruesome price of all.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem