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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528131" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Pregnant Lass</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.<br>Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp'ry slope -<br>She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope, <br>And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -<br>The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire: <br>&quot;The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.<br>Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire<br>Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require; <br>Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar, <br>Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.<br>Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her - <br>Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire; <br>Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though broken there, she's fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.<br>And now she's dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16, <br>With child, unwed, her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.<br>A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes, <br>In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens; <br>And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines<br>Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that's seldom trod<br>&quot;In pious role, God bless my soul&quot;, was mouthed with mitred nod, <br>Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -<br>&quot;She'll burn in hell and sulphur smell&quot;, spat Priest and man of god.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl's attire, <br>But Banjo Boy, he's playing coy while chanting in the choir: <br>&quot;The clueless search within the church to find what they desire, <br>But near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.&quot;<br>And when he's through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+O%27Leary">Terry O'Leary</a><div class=q>
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<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=528131" data-title="A Pregnant Lass de Terry O'Leary" data-description="A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp'ry slope -
She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope, 
And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
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