They caught Tom Dooley in my backyard when I
was only ten.
The posse rode in fast and hard
but he never rode again.

When the sheriff arrived Tom folded his hand for
he knew he was no longer free.
He offered no fight and he didn't run,
he just stared real hard at me.

Though he tried to smile he could barely grin, yet
he didn't say a thing.
He shed no tear when the women moaned or
when some began to scream.

My pa kept tending to his chores,
with a hollow look in his eye.
But mom gave Tom a tearful wave,
like when lovers say goodbye.

Tom glanced at pa and he stared at ma, then he
looked real hard my way.
His eyes said more than a heart could read, or a
tongue has words to say.

They caught Tom Dooley in my backyard when I
was only ten.
The posse rode in fast and hard
but he never rode again.

They hung Tom Dooley from the old oak tree; I
watched them take his life.
They left him hanging and swinging free, so I cut
him down with my knife.

When men say these words
Not tonight honey. I have a headache
A common phrase for women: men curse.
But what’s wrong when men emit it so often

Come, all you young men with your wicked, wicked ways,
Sow your wild oats in your younger days,
So that you may be happier when you grow old
For your days is shorter and your nights will be long

The mind of an old poet,
Can be poetic in translation,
His reputation about delivering his verbs, meter, sonnets and limerick
Runs smooth

However rhythm is the essence of poetry
In reality to entertain his loves in bed:  
Distill and not powerful enough his love making ****!
Hold down your head Tom Dooley.
No tranquility he wept in silent