The Elegy of Mister Edward Walker Jones

The Elegy of Mister Edward Walker Jones *

The procession moved forward
To the end of Mister Jones,
Not just any mister Jones
But Edward Walker Jones.
He had come to town
As the pastor of the church,
Not just any white framed church
But the beloved St. Michael's church.
He now walked in the middle
Of some very solemn faces,
Not just any solemn faces
But these four solemn faces
Leading to the end of Mister Jones
Before the people of the church
With their stern and solemn faces.

He remembered well the first interrogation
Into the disappearance of the girl.
She was but eight years old when some abomination
Squeezed her lovely spirit from the world.

The questions came for hours, from many different men
On the who, what, where and when he was before.
And on the night in question, he was asked where had he been
He must have heard them ask him a hundred times or more.

Clearly he remembered the closing of the cell
And the deafening metal against metal of the lock
It would have overpowered the ringing of the bell
Inside the steeple. He was filled with shock.

At the trial, he well remembered, no one spoke for him
Alone he was in a town with fury loose.
The jury found him guilty with solemn faces grim
And the judge solemnly proclaimed, "Execution by the noose."

He remembered well the horror of the loneliness of jail
And contemplating how the fates did send
With each resounding thud of hammer onto nail
His lonely soul to its untimely end.

So now he takes this walk, Mister Edward Walker Jones,
With these four men to guide him through the throng
Whose glances land on him as heavy as would stones
That might be cast if no one had a wrong.

A tremble shakes his body as he starts to mount the stair
And the men on either side hold him erect.
As they continue on they are all quite unaware
Of the crowd who wants him hanging by his neck.

"Mister Edward Walker Jones," a voice did pierce the air
"Do you have anything to say before you die?"
"I do." He did reply as he gave the crowd a stare
"Someone here among you knows it wasn't I."

The hood then hid his face and the noose was cinched up tight
And when he dropped he kicked but just a while.
The people left knowing that they, not he, was right
And their solemn eyes failed to see Tommy Johnson's smile.

I wonder, as I proceed
With solemn face
To the end of what is me
While you continue smiling
How many times this scene,
Not just any scene,
But this regrettable scene
Will be allowed
To exist.

~ Michael Bahm ~

[ * Disclaimer : This poem is about the possibility of what could happen when the death penalty is established. The characters are strictly fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a coincidence. ]

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