I think there’s something to a score which none have ever heard before—
A sound that wallows on the shore of midnight’s bleeding edgeline—
A beckoning the world decrees upon its ash-black, scorchéd knees,
Corrupted by the burning breeze of noon-time ‘neath the sunshine.

The little tune of Mary Mae obscures good men’s misfortunes.
It draws all out the bitter clout that deals the dread their portions
And focuses instead on those who falsewise stand accuséd.
The children huddle all around, by gallows-queues amuséd,
To watch the work of gravity upon the necks of villains.
They draw their breath and wait for death; the children count their shillings
In want of ice cream afterward. The black-hood-man steps forward,
And one by one the innocent ‘tween earth and sky are cornered.
They gasp for breath, their lives snuff out, they die beneath the midday.
The children cheer—but Mary’s tears fall down and wet the walkway.
The children ask her why she cries; she lacks a couple farthings,
Just short the cost of post-show treats. Tom Windsy posts the failings,
And then she was at peace again.

Good Tom had earned her favor,
And several seasons past that day, the wedding-feast was savored.
In happiness the two did live for many years thereafter.
She only bore him once a girl, but this was no great factor
In all his love for her esteem.

One night their peace was broken
By wicked raps upon their door. From out their sleep ‘twere woken,
And Tom at once ran to their guests, to see what was the matter.
The door gave way to crimson red. His Lordship stood the latter,
And dropped unto his feet a scroll, from which he seemed acquire:
“By this, decree of royal law, brought forth by he my squire,
You are at once to come with us and face your execution.”
The men his guards gave not the chance for any absolution
And drug him all at once back to the gallows-blocks by moonlight.
Miss May still in her bed did lay, and soon returned to dreamwright.

When morning came, her love was gone—but this no attribution
She thought at all to be for him. Today was execution,
And he of course must busy be, to keep and mind his storefront.
She took her daughter by the hand and led her to the crowd-lot
And took the girl across the street, to have a friend to watch her.
Then Mary went back to the crowd, so as to watch the feature.

The little tune of Mary Mae obscures good men’s misfortunes.
It draws all out the bitter clout that deals the dread their portions
And focuses instead on those who falsewise stand accuséd.
The children huddle all around, by gallows-queues amuséd,
To watch the work of gravity upon the necks of villains.
They draw their breath and wait for death; the children count their shillings
In want of ice cream afterward. The black-hood-man steps forward,
And one by one the innocent ‘tween earth and sky are cornered.
They gasp for breath, their lives snuff out, they die beneath the midday.
The children cheer—but Mary’s tears fall down and wet the walkway.
The children ask her why she cries; but no reply can make she.
The deed is done—what have they done? She falls upon her black knees.

7/11/07