Oh, ye apples of Sodom!
Those luscious and lascivious tempting fruits,
Russet and golden as Salome's breasts!
Beautiful faces and lightly muscled chests.

The rounded bottom,the exquisite behind-
Never a sweeter derriere as one might find;
Those vexed and repressed
Lovers of teen boy flesh,
Who, engaged in acts most sordid with them,
Whether on the streets, or in the Opium den.

Ah, those passionate Fauns,
With tempting eyes and beguiling
Smiles.
Those slender, limbed,downy skinned
Not-quite-yet-men,
Who occupied a den of sin
For a just half a crown, and a glassful of gin.

A foul and dark latrine mayhaps suffice, for those
Who pedalled their vice-if the darker path they chose.
And charged perhaps, a much lesser cost,
Whatever the price-their innocence was lost.

Procured, and Lured
For those who loved young game,
But needed not to know their name.
Who's smooth complexion and dimpled smiles
And cocky, cheeky ways,and walks, and wiles,
Tarried with many a 'straitlaced' Upper-class sort
In a dark back-alleyway to slyly cavort.
Eyes always peeled, so as not to get caught.

Hasty pleasures doled out for the hot blooded
Of which London's streets were always half-flooded.
Thinking their wives knew not, or had chose
Not to acknowledge their spouses peccadilloes.

A choir-boy face with wanting eyes-
Always on the search for his next prize,
Picking up punters, sometimes ten a day
Stumbling through life,
Giving love-for-money away.

Always in need of a place to lay,
A lodging house, if lucky,
Or on the cold streets they stay,
Desperately searching the crowd, with their need
To feed their empty bellies,not to fulfil their greed.

The more cabaret kind
Of the ambitious sort,
Would darken their lashes,
In their hope to be bought,

Apply rouge to their cheeks,
Even dressing like ladies,
Carrying bunches of posies
And garlands of daisies.

For the goal was, you see
For the punters to know
That the man in the dress
Was the type that would "go"
And probably called himself Mary or Flo!

Wearing colourful shoes, laced with deerskin or spats,
Sweet frilly bonnets, for men with top hats,
They, appearing as ladies, carved out quite a living
T'was amazing how much you can buy for ten shillings!

But whatever the wrapping these young workers wore
The conditions were hard, and they left themselves sore-
Sore of heart and even sorer of body,
For the way they were treated was often most shoddy.

Not seen as people, but playthings and toys
Their 'careers' only flourished
When they were young boys.
For when the bloom was off the Rose,
And age crept in, on the cold streets they froze.

Those who had lusted for their firm bodied flesh
Now Looked straight through them,
For new meat that was fresh.
'Angel Delights' as they were known in the city:
Aged thirteen to twenty, and so young and pretty.

Used up and worn out before they were men-
Still they paraded, but their 'luck' had died then.
For the choicest meat from the cow, or the pig
Are cut from the Young, the old left as a Stig.

Whether placed in a parlour, a den or the streets
These darling confections were offered like sweets,
Anxiously waiting for their next John,
Seeing the sands in the hourglass of their lives
Almost half-gone.

Far more sinned against, than sinning
These lads were in constant pursuit of the shilling,
But their fates were sealed by time,don't forget.
A life for your son, you'd eschew, I will bet.

How cruel is time, and how cruel is vice.
There is no way to make it sound pleasant or nice.
The young are still favoured, but worse is the truth
That so many associate beauty with youth.

And so many young, old before their time
One foot in the grave, once their looks decline.
Pity them, look not with anger at them,
But instead at the punters who abused boys of ten-
The younger the better, it seems, for those men.
And yet in modern times it still happens to them.

Don't think 'times have changed"
For have you forgot,
The saying that Leopards,
They don't change their spots-
Predators still favour the too-young-to-know
And know where to go
To satisfy vices,
And procurers of flesh, they still name their prices.

But
Don't they show their faces to the outside world
Don't allow their passions to be unfurled,
In public at least,
They wear masks of normality
And this story today is still a grim,dark reality.