Lizzie Borden

LIZZIE BORDEN Poor miss Lizzie, a murderess acquitted, By a judgment’s ruling of her peers, Yet command by histories theatrics. Astound damsel, to the wealth’s elite, A matron’s old maid, imprisoned by An unjust fate. By the falling axes sharpened blade, Two lives ended, ensuing the public’s Scandal and out rage. Does not the rhyme in time not state, The accusations inquest to her guilt, Without evidences accuracy to the accused. Used to frighten the rich and poor Children alike to behave or else, did this So go, Lizzie Borden took an ax, And gave her mother forty whacks, When she saw what she had done, She gave her father forty one. A bloody odes melody, left to History's swinging hatchet’s, Rough unsheathed edge. Rocking, chopping a ticking Time bomb, of the pasted. Her story's haunting mystery, Still intrigues the Sherlock Homes Detective, in the common man. Whom did this dirtiest of deed, The foul plays miscreant, that Got away with murders perfect Crime. Three ghostly voices scream For justices revenge, a father, A step mother and the daughter, Proclaiming her own innocence. Lizzie Borden's name, lives on In Infamies guilty court of the Unforgiven. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN