There once was a place

Where men went

To find a kind

Of temporary content

And many a girl’s face

Graced that place

Where men could buy

A lie

Of love.

But perhaps a few

Believed it was true.

 

Some poor fools

Tried to buy

Girl’s love

With jewels.

The girls would smile

And would inwardly say,

“He is good

For a while

Until his money runs away”.

 

 

Sometimes, girls awaking from sleep

Would weep

And when kindly men

Heard them cry

They would wonder “why

Do I

Try to buy

Her love?”.

 

Some men would die

Inside and lose all empathy.

For such a He

The payment of a fee

Made everything okay

And he could say

And do

Whatever he wanted to.

 

Not all girls took drugs

And few had thugs

Keeping them in the life.

But poverty’s sharp  knife

May cause us all

To slip and fall.

 

Some women freely chose

To give a certain part,

(But never their heart)

To men for a fee.

Though some deny

That such women freely chose

Or maintain that she

Is the minority

And that the privileged few

May have true

Freedom, while the majority

Are not free.

 

The place has long gone

But the profession lives on.

In dark streets

And expensive hotels

Client and girl meet

And the poet tells

How a fee

Often obfuscates morality.

And how all must

End in dust.

And