The grip of her hands is warm with sin;

Her holiest smile is an impish grin.

Once she was proud of her hands’ soft skin

And she washed and scrubbed to clear them of sin.

Right hand said, ‘Wash again, there is sin

Still clinging to my delicate flawless skin.’

Left hand said, ‘If I let you win

No man nor woman shall be her kin –

She must stick her arms in the rubbish-bin!

In the battle of the hands neither should win.’

The grip of her hands is kind with sin;

Her holiest smile is an impish grin.