(TO LORD——) <br />WILL you not buy? She asks you, my lord, you <br />Who know the points desirable in such. <br />She does not say that she is perfect. True, <br />She's not too pleasant to the sight or touch. <br />But then — neither are you! <br />Her cheeks are rather fallen in; a mist <br />Glazes her eyes, for all their hungry glare. <br />Her lips do not breathe balmy when they're kissed. <br />And yet she's not more loathsome than, I swear, <br />Your grandmother at whist. <br />My lord, she will admit, and need not frame <br />Excuses for herself, that she's not chaste. <br />First a young lover had her; then she came <br />From one man's to another's arms, with haste. <br />Your mother did the same. <br />Moreover, since she's married, once or twice <br />She's sold herself for certain things at night. <br />To sell one's body for the highest price <br />Of social ease and power, all girls think right. <br />Your sister did it thrice. <br />What, you'll not buy? You'll curse at her instead? — <br />Her children are alone, at home, quite near. <br />These winter streets, so gay at nights, 'tis said, <br />Have 'ticed the wanton out. She could not hear <br />Her children cry for bread!<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-edgware-road/
