''These Words That I Must Write''

To my eldest daughter, June

my dowry may be paid in gold,

a payment on marriage – day

for the preacher born in May.



These words that I must write

I believe his prayers for sight,

a miracle the day I was born

the sad story you shall hear,



in time it brought forth light

a noble gentleman in town,

confused his lovely wife

kisses in the lane at night.



He told an artful tale of love

rejoicing with a request,

for so her will was printed

signed on that merry day.



There the wrath of God

so sad he cried his tears,

your earthly life dying now

this conscience felt in hell,



your debt paid for society

laid the execution made,

such is the wrath so soon

confessed to hang at noon.



The village preacher sad

seeing this man in tears,

holding his hand to pray

God’s forgiveness today,



his wife returning home

not knowing what to say,

he kissed her on her brow

forgiveness in the family.



They buried him at noon

In the prisoners grave,

a tiny cross in his hand

God have mercy please?