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Here we are in the village of Morristown, New Jersey.
It is September the sixth in the year of our Lord, 1833.
French immigrant Antoine LeBlanc went on a killing spree.
He took the lives of two rather prominent citizenry.
Antoine murdered Mr. and Mrs. Sayre, and their servant Phoebe.
The citizens of the town considered the deed so dastardly.

It only took twenty minutes for the decision of the jury.
With overwhelming evidence, the defendant was found guilty.
LeBlanc was afforded all the formalities of a fair hearing.
Judge Gabriel Ford handed down the sentence of death by hanging.

A crowd of about ten thousand are gathered in the public square.
Witnesses have come to see the execution from everywhere.
A rope around LeBlanc’s neck will propel him into the air.
Until he is dead, Antoine will be hanging in despair.

“That’s not enough”, cried some of the witnesses in their fears.
They wanted LeBlanc’s skin tanned and made into souvenirs.
Wallets, purses, lampshades, and book jackets were fashioned from his hide.
That is a gruesome fate that certainly cannot be denied.
Here is something else that I have to say:
Some of those relics of the infamous criminal still survive today.

I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and the website of Weird N.J. for information I obtained to write this poem.

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