Chapter 2 – Ballad for the Death of Lofty

19 Jul

The flowers still bloom

In the spot where she killed

Old Lofty

Her gun as cold and hard as

Her woman’s heart of steel.

Folks around here claim

The blood and stench

Of the unburied

Left its mark

Where once the earth was arid

There grows an immaculate garden

Among exotic blooms

Lofty’s bones take in the sun.

Perhaps his death was meant to be

And the woman meant to be praised

For in this town of three-hundred

And one

So fine a flower was never grown.

Still, we saw the woman hanged

And we buried the remains

And the people of the town agreed

Poor old Lofty had not died in vain.

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