A purple gown with rhinestone stars,
Sparked bright upon the stage.
The Rose of Cairo's signature
When burlesque was the rage.
She could have been a chanteuse
With the pipes she carried 'round
Honey sweet and whiskey smooth,
A sultry, smokey sound.
She could have been an actress cast
In dramas finely wrought.
She had comedic timing of
The inborn kind not taught.
Bojangles taught her rapid tap,
Because he liked her spunk.
They spent time matching tags glued to
His suitcase and her trunk.
But Rose was best when spotlights flared
And made her rhinestones shine.
Her dark exotic face and dance
Suggested the divine.
Her beauty hints at pyramids,
Oases in the sand.
Her body moves with snake like grace
And sexual demand.
She is the guilty pleasure that
No one admits is his.
Her marquee billing brings to them
A sparkling champagne fizz.
Her hips advance timed to the beat
That hides beneath the notes
Of music played to celebrate
The way her body floats.
Her dance starts then to tantalize,
Unclothing bits of skin,
When upright ladies of the time
Considered it a sin.
To show an ankle in those days,
Was sure to cause a stir,
When the woman of the house
Was chattel to her Sir.
But Rose is of that type who danced
To drummers most can't hear.
Although she stands outside the norm,
She's careful not to sneer.
She titillates and teases with
Her costume and the dance,
Shedding pieces causing men
To hope they have the chance
Of seeing what most only see
Behind the bedroom door.
Her training takes her off the stage
While they all shout for more.
The loved and lovely Purple Rose
Is cursed with sought for fame.
The wide exposure that she gets
Will change the future game.
She'll never be just anyone,
Now everybody knows,
Thought she may wish to change her fate,
She'll always be The Rose.
Richard Higley © Oct. 10 2013
