Here lies a painted doll
Broken by a lifetime of twirling
In front of cameras.

Playing the dream woman
Who existed only in the mind of a man
She first danced to the music,
Then made music dance to her.

To and fro went the tango
Until greasepaint turned into warpaint
To fight the creeping vines of age.

The news ticker doesn’t care for
How she lived … her death, if sensational, is fine

But ever the professional,
She strikes the best pose to
Suit the lighting,
Even in death.