Maid For Love

A poem of longing.

Never was a maid so pure.
Many lovers she didn’t want — yet most she endured.
A coin here and shilling there,
Not that it really matters.
She lay awake to contemplate,
This bleak and unwanted aesthetic exterior.
Here she longs for her absent lover.

Hair to her knees, lips plump and pink,
She works endlessly.
Brown walls line her prison — A few stained white sheets.
Here she waits for her absent lover

A gift from a man from years ago — a coat covered with mink.
For this is her calling, the only path she saw;
An empty room of lust and longing.
Many come and go,
But always and forever — here she cries for her absent lover.