Edward Jones Poet I do not know?

Jailed, An Ode To

Here in this land of tranquility,
blossoming with the fragrance of spring,
lie's the entrance to the land,
that know free man has seen,
down you will burrow,
away from the light,
here you will find it,
a land of such fright,
the people who dwell here,
some wicked, some small,
some will tell nothing,
while others tell all,
few are good,
and those that are not,
will lead you down,
to your resting plot,
but if you chose right,
oh heroes do pray,
you may still yet,
see the light of day,
but if you like coffins,
and the smell of dirt,
then continue to temp,
its only your death,
that you flirt.

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