Bad Cess
It's said to be
Bad cess, bad luck
To rob a suicide;
To steal her chains
And ruby rings
After she has died;
The wealth found
In her dress pockets,
The copper coins and things
On her lapels the golden locket,
Her diamond stone earrings;
In life they brought no lasting joy,
No lasting happiness
Her life ended in the mud
Such was her distress;
So leave those bodies
The Thames wash up
Along it’s oily shore,
In the slimy, fetid muck,
Tide battered bruised and sore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi David, I came upon this by chance, a nice alternative precis of my work. All the best, David.