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Poem	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?'
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