The Lice

The Church bell tolls,
     she pays a heavy price.
Fingers in empty holes
     she begins a life of lies.

Her story is never told--
     the Filipina and her rice.

For no one was so bold
     to admit she had a price.

For centuries She suffered
     dominion of other race,

Freedom maybe encountered
     but not by her pretty face.
At poverty's brink cornered

     a life led disgraced.

Imprisoned by her own designs--
     a life of sorrow and despise
     release from capital ties

Until finally at last, in her demise
     half-truths revealed to their eyes
     sees only old rich men that dies
          in loving arms of, truly, a lice.
 
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Poetry, despite my ability to be able to comprehend and interpret them clearly, is not actually one of my best suits in creative writing. So here's one of my crude poetry which I hope will be understood.