In youth I was your basic overweight Dutch frump,
As at the end I was. Between, the quantum jump
To Mata Hari, ethnic artist dancing nude
Before Crowned Heads, if not the Asian multitude
That would know bump-and-grinding when they saw it. Spy?
Well, maybe. Such few secrets as I could supply
I hardly understood. But faced with firing squad
I was as firm as Nurse Cavell. A simple nod
That signals one is ready; and the blindfold off,
To serve as scarf, inhibit any final cough.
Once dead, I enter into glamour. Who can see
A Garbo playing starchy Edith and not me?
And if I danced enticing, Indo-Minsky scenes,
They were my income. Nurse Cavell had private means.