not for everyone's taste but a ballad that I wrote about one of Washington, Missouri's most infamous roadways:
Mary Ellen was a farm girl
with hair as soft as silk.
All the farm hands wished to court her
for her skin was white as milk.
Her heart could not be captured
to another she was sworn.
Her lover sparked a fire within
that burned bright as the morn.
While morning chores were heavy still,
to her love she stole away;
and met him there upon the bridge,
to many a man’s dismay.
She greeted her lover with a kiss
and he replied in kind.
They walked and talke of marriage;
a pledge their hearts had signed.
With a joyful heart she left him.
To her chores she must return,
for tonight they would be married
and for that, our farm girl yearned.
Beneath the bridge at Enoch’s Knob
a farm hand overheard
their promise to be married;
his heart dreading every word.
The farm hand’s mind was angered.
He’d longed for Mary’s touch.
He knew she’d never love him and
His blood began to rush.
The farm hand stalked the muddy banks;
And when Mary’s lover showed,
He struck him about the head and neck
With several angry blows.
Now Mary’s love lay lifeless,
“What is this that you’ve done?”
Asked a traveler crossing wooden planks,
As the farm hand turned to run.
Poor Mary’s heart was soaring still,
As she waltzed through fields of green.
Then on Enoch’s Knob, she saw it there
Her true love’s murder scene.
In the farm fields of Missouri,
Near a windy Bouef Creek bend,
Lies a bridge well known as Enoch’s Knob,
Where in death this fable ends.
No carriage traffic travels now,
Across it’s wooden planks.
Now lies a rotting Enoch’s Knob
On muddy, thick, creek banks.
Where true love once a union made
In this small and quiet hollow,
Now haunted by a farm girl’s ghost
Still swinging from it’s gallows.
All Rights Reserved