Poetry

With her long legs continually flashing,
on her small heel and toe she is dancing
keeping perfectly to the banging rhythm
in passing smiling sweetly at the king.
 
Past she dances again, smiles, laughs and turn,
the king watches while he is taciturn
with her skirt rising in loveliness
while brightly blazing, flaming torches burn,
 
to the men, the king the dance ends too soon,
while outside hangs a tiny sickle moon,
she is asked to dance once more,
to dance flirting and to ask for a boon.
 
In sheer pristine beauty she stands tall,
asks for the head of a holy man to fall.