The Homicide

 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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