The Homicide

Robert William Service

They say she speeded wanton wild
     When she was warm with wine;
And so she killed a little child,
     (Could have been yours or mine).
The Judge’s verdict was not mild,
     And heavy was the fine.

And yet I see her driving still,
     But maybe with more care . . .
Oh I should hate a child to kill
     With vine leaves in my hair;
I think that I should grieve until
     Life was too bleak to bear.

I think that I would see each day
     That child in beauty grow.
How she would haunt me in her play.
     And I would watch her go
To School a-dancing on her way,
     With gladness all aglow!

And then one day I might believe,
     With angel eyes ashine,
She’d say to me: ‘Please do not grieve,
     Maybe the fault was mine.
Take heart,—to Heaven’s comfort cleave,
     For am I not divine!’

I think I know how I would feel
     If I a child should slay;
The rest of living I would kneel
     And for God’s pity pray . . .
Madam, I saw you at the wheel
     Of your new car today.

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