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Poem by Robert William Service
The Judge looked down, his face was grim, He scratched his ear; The gangster's moll looked up at him With eyes of fear. She thought: 'This guy in velvet gown, With balding pate, Who now on me is looking down, Can seal my fate.' The Judge thought: 'Fifteen years or ten I might decree. Just let me say the word and then Go home to tea. But then this poor wretch might not be So long alive...' So with surprise he heard that he Was saying 'Five'. The Judge went home. His daughter's child Was five that day; And with sweet gifts around her piled She laughed in play. Then mused the Judge: 'Life oft bestows Such evil odds. May he who human mercy shows Not count on God's?'
Robert William Service
Robert William Service's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org