A Gilda's glance, a crimson wave of hair, A smile that promised secrets yet untold, Rita, a goddess on the silver air, A vision sculpted out of purest gold. From humble dance halls to the Hollywood gleam, She rose, a Venus born of wartime dreams, A fantasy, a captivating dream, Reflected in the flickering film's soft beams. But shadows lurked behind the painted face, A fragile heart concealed by glamour's art, A yearning for a love she couldn't trace, A lonely figure playing a destined part. Though time may fade, her legend will remain, A timeless beauty, etched in memory's lane.