Robert William Service
The Homicide - Poem by 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.
Comments about The Homicide by Robert William Service
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You