Analysis of The Babe

The Babe
A babe with golden eyes,
              dirty knotted hair,
                              with hunger for a belly,
                                          lies starving,
                                                      beneath a marble floor.
Above, amid a swirl of rich brocades,
              a blaze of purple and gold,
                            silver shoes, scarlet stockings, polished boots,
                                        dance in time to dulcet chamber melodies,
                                                        immortally composed by dying paupers.
They prance in festive abandon,
                a martial air's rhythm fills the crystal hall,
                              and the tears of tomorrow's children,
                                                are swallowed in the dust.

© Jan 2014, Terence Cummings Smith