Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.98

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	I pawned my sick wife's wedding ring, To drink and make myself a beast. I got the most that it would bring, Of golden coins the very least. With stealth into her room I crept And stole it from her as she slept. I do not think that she will know, As in its place I left a band Of brass that has a brighter glow And gleamed upon her withered hand. I do not think that she can tell The change - she does not see too well. Pray God, she doesn't find me out. I'd rather far I would be dead. Yet yesterday she seemed to doubt, And looking at me long she said: "My finger must have shrunk, because My ring seems bigger than it was." She gazed at it so wistfully, And one big tear rolled down her cheek. Said she: "You'll bury it with me . . ." I was so moved I could not speak. Oh wretched me! How whisky can Bring out the devil in a man!" And yet I know she loves me still, As on the morn that we were wed; And darkly guess I also will Be doomed the day that she is dead. And yet I swear, before she's gone, I will retrieve her ring from pawn. I'll get it though I have to steal, Then when to ease her bitter pain They give her sleep oh I will feel Her hand and slip it on again; Through tears her wasted face I'll see, And pray to God: "Oh pity me!"
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required