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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508786" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Locket</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From out her shabby rain-coat pocket<br>The little Jew girl in the train<br>Produced a dinted silver locket<br>With pasted in it portraits twain.<br>"These are my parents, sir" she said;<br>"Or were, for now I fear they're dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I know to Belsen they were sent;<br>I never heard of them again.<br>So many were like that - they went,<br>Our woeful quest was all in vain.<br>I was in London with a friend,<br>Or I, too, would have shared their end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"They could have got away, I'm told,<br>And joined me here in Marylebne,<br>But Grannie was so sick and old,<br>They could not leave her there alone.<br>When they were seized she cried and cried:<br>Thank God! 'Twas in her bed she died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"How did they die? I cannot bear<br>To think of that - it crazes me.<br>My mother was so sweet, so fair;<br>My father handsome as you see . . .<br>I'm sure no daughter ever had<br>More lovely parents . . . Yes, it's sad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But for their loss I shall not grieve;<br>I'll hug the hope they still survive;<br>Oh, I must make myself believe<br>Somehow, somewhere they're still alive. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Well, that's my only souvenir,<br>A locket stained with many a tear."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508786" data-title="The Locket de Robert William Service" data-description="From out her shabby rain-coat pocket The little Jew girl in the train Produced a dinted silver locket With pasted in it portraits twain. "These are my parents, sir" she said; "Or were, for now I fear they're dead. "I know to B..."></div> </div> </div>
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