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The curtain has fallen, the house lights extinguished,
all tutus discarded with tights and blocked shoes,
and there at the stage-door awaits a distinguished
old gentleman, eager to meet his danseuse.

Then into the gaslight with laughter and chatter,
their bonnets, pelisses, a picturesque sight,
the young corps-de-ballet, to quick pitter-patter,
emerge and diverge, and are lost in the night.

Maintaining his vigil, the gentleman paces,
aware from experience wooers must wait,
beside him a somnolent nag shakes its traces,
the cab-driver sharing its comatose state.

At last in the doorway the star ballerina
appears – what a vision of beauty and grace! –
expecting to enter some top-notch arena,
in highest society capture a place.

With gibus in hand, and a costly bouquet,
her escort then greets her, but once they’ve climbed in
the hansom, behaves in a most shameful way,
suggesting, not supper at Rule’s, but sin!

Then how does the lady react in that carriage –
insist that he instantly leaves her alone?
No. Forced to relinquish her pipe-dream of marriage,
she feels that a bracelet or two will atone.
Her price? Above rubies – he’sclose to the Throne!

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.

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