Poems

Anneke Leutscher has worn down with her steps, the cobblestone path in Muurstraat.

Since the early 1920’s, the country girls flock,

To make this, their careful profession.

A slight moon moves through her torment,

But so dark is that moon,

She must duck and weave for the light.

For the tower has struck, as the final bell tolls

That has taken with it most of the day.

At this time of night, fast men are mislaid,

And she must find others to trade.

But through a rare light which is lost on her soul,

She must walk from her window to lane.

Winter chill winds, come settling in and redden the moon from the sky.

Down to the trains and railways of time, Anneke

She stands on the street.

A girl for the night, with garter and lace,

She answers the pity with lies.

Behind the red hue, she picks up a few,

And scatters these clouds to the moon.

Murky and grey are the valiant men, who are equally dauntless with pride.

Wolbertus does enter, for the girl in Muurstraat,

A man of proportionate angst- to rescue this

Pearl from the grey scattered clouds,

He carries her round on his hand.

For he is so tall and she is but small,

This bird he can obviously cage.

At first he wore the love in his eyes- without

Thinking the great passion through,

And a fire was fuelled by their mutual deceit,

Great verses they sang for its’ praise.

But marriage and war,

Only brought more for the whore,

And she lingered again for the moon.

So the cobblestone path, beckoned her sex,

Calling her ever more.

From the windows she fled from seedy Muurstraat, to the station and marriage and kids,

To Assen, with soldiers she lay, and plied her

Loyalty away.

But now the rouge moon is ablaze without

Colour so,

She sleeps with the moon and the grey.