The Street Walker's Burial

She was a beautiful lady in her hay days

Men of all walks of life drooled for her face

All drank from her well and gave little pays

Till her body could not take in more abuse

With a stripped gown in the ward she laid

Frail lonely and bones protruding as shade

She fearfully saw her beauty and figure fade

At last her life flew and her nice eyes greyed

Her light weight became too huge to ferry 

Her casket was a boulder of a rock to carry

It carried many souls which she would bury

And in her well many men had made merry

Mourners sat silently following the sermon

The pastor bombarded sin like a war cannon

Sweating as he did on top of her in Oregon 

When her hips smoothly moved in gyration

The soldier too remembered that cold night

When drunk he staggered and held her sight

From her well he fetched with all his might

Now he too among others dust he would bite

Even the big politician was her customer too

In the dark night he'd see and call her my boo

He would then give her a thousand or two

Then unwrap and give her his gift;new shoe

The pastor often said turn to your neighbour

Tell them prostitution is a bad way to labour

The pious and honest men hoped for a favour

Not to be amongst those in the dark chamber