Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.15.7.241

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

On the hard cement, she lay
Her dark hair was matted, and her skin was grey
At her side was a soulless shoe
Her face, beaten black and blue
Her clothes were very tattered and torn
Everything about her looked well-worn,
She was well known in this street
Where she played the violin, so haunting and sweet
Something did not feel right today
She picked up her violin and started to play.
Her violin was her best friend,
Without this instrument, her life would end,
She lost herself in the magic of the sound
as her violin played to those who usually stood round
Listening to her play
But not today.
The street was almost empty; hardly anyone was about,
Which made her feel uneasy. And then she heard him shout,
As she saw him coming towards her, she began to shake
Where were the passers-by, for goodness sake?
As the young lout got closer, he yelled. At her to play
She lifted her violin, and the hoon snatched it away
Waving it in the air and taunting her as he did,
He said he would return it if she gave him a few quid
I cannot show you any money; I have none to give.
Said the terrified woman, who had to busker daily
Because she had to eat to live.
The hooligan felt defeated. No money was forthcoming,
He tormented and bashed the woman in the face,
She fell, and he started running
He raced up the road, feeling no remorse
How could he know his fate was sealed? Of course
A police car turned the corner without noticing the lad
There was an almighty screech of brakes
The outcome was both unexpected and sad.
The felon lay in the middle of the road, gasping for breath,
He and the woman he murdered had an untimely death

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required