The Perennial Harlot

I met my first man in a garden. 
He fell easy; it only took a red apple. 
I laid the blame on a snake— 
It couldn’t talk. 
I found that the Egyptian men liked persimmons. 
I planted a grove. 
I introduced the hen-wallow in Babylon. 
Then I created a wicked wiggle— 
I learned it from the snake. 
I did it to the music of cymbals, tamborines and the sax.
But, when I met the Master, 
The man of Galilee, at the well 
And tried to make him, 
He had my number. 
From then on, down through the years, 
I’ve been a scandal.