The Whoretesan

In the blackest room

of the House of Sand

slept a married father

and his whoretesan.

He whispered sweetings

against her shoulder.

The girl grew old

as the wife grew colder.



In the blink of an eye

and breadth of a wink,

the man had more duty

and less time to think.

In the blackest room

of the House of Sand,

he called for his whore

and he bound her hands.



"Oh, darling girl!

Unpure but true!

I've kissed and clutched

enough of you!

Weep all you want,

weep all you may;

I made you here

and here you'll stay."



And back he went

to his frozen wife,

living a pale

and paltry life.

The whoretesan

did fade and rot,

but sweet, sad tears,

her eyes had naught.



In thirty years

there came a man--

the father's son--

to the House of Sand.

In the brightest room

where the water ran,

he found and married

the whoretesan.



The girl was a wife

with charm and good taste,

with passionate eyes,

with a slight, slender waist,

and though he loved her

and held her dear,

her hate for his father

filled him with fear.



In the blackest room

of the House of Sand,

the father was burried

by the whoretesan:

where once the sheets

fell soft and hot,

she laid his body

down to rot.



The son then lost

his ghostly wife,

and soon he ended

his young life.

In the blackest room

of the House of Sand

lays a husband's corpse,

sits a whoretesan.

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