Isabella

Greatest living doll of the high gates,
Men of all the kingdoms have sailed.
Why such beauty? There’s tender lips—
An abundance of rubies I wouldn’t admit.

The flow of the river, carrying a sword,
Muttered, “Why me, compared to gold?
Where I invited them into my chamber,
Take me all in with nothing to hold.”

For I am Isabella, a whore you might call;
I give to those who need my body and soul.”
I recant, “No, you’re Isabella, my only lady;
You’re a poet, the only one I want to marry.”