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Poem

Many years ago,
On a night so cold and still;
Vigilante justice,
Took place on Bonham Hill

Gathered all in numbers,
With torches held in hand;
No shred of heart's compassion,
They lynched an innocent man

Idle rumors echoed,
Throughout the lowly town;
Before the night had fallen;
Blood would soak the ground

I've often heard the story,
A fertile pack of lies;
Such petty tales of rubbish,
'Til I saw those daunting eyes

In the town of Lazy Willow,
At the foot of Bonham Hill;
Before the hour of midnight,
To the place where blood had spilled

Glaring beneath the moonlight,
Eyes fixed upon the tree;
I saw a haunting figure,
Staring down at me

His clothes were worn and tattered,
With pain refrained by tears;
And there before my doubting eyes,
He slowly disappeared

An ugly page in history,
Where ignorance held its fill;
Etched in my mind for eternity,
Is the ghost on Bonham Hill

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