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Fearing that she might go one day...

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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
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The Homicide

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (3077 reads)
They say she speeded wanton wild...

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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