Bones

#listen-container { display: inline-block; padding: 9px 15px; background: #10578E; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; border: 1px solid #1791ef; border-bottom: 1px solid #156caf; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; } #listen-container:hover { background: #2f9cf1; } #listen-container a { color: #fff; } .listen-container-svg { fill: #fff; height: 20px; width: 22px; margin-right: 5px; } #text-player { margin-right: 0; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; top: -3px; position: relative; float: none; font-family: "Roboto","sans-serif"; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; } Listen to this Poem Your browser does not support the audio element. Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot Tell you, Dr. Jones— The most peculiar pain I’m in— I think it’s in my bones.” Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith, That’s nothing. Without doubt We have a simple cure for that; It is to take them out.” He laid forthwith poor Mr. Smith Close-clamped upon the table, And, cold as stone, took out his bones As fast as he was able. Smith said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” And wished him a good-day; And with his parcel ‘neath his arm He slowly moved away.