When once upon a time of yore:
a tale of woe, a murdered whore.
In God’s own name was hacked and snared;
through church and bribe, her killer spared.
A crime most foul yet was proposed:
‘Her just deserts.’ Went unopposed.
With haste to put her in the ground,
in dead of night without a sound.
A wooden cross, there on ‘Unknown’;
a scene of such a wicked tone.
No one to bless her on her way,
Just get the bitch beneath the clay.
The pastor known to all and one
and known too well what he had done.
None dared the truth lest got what due,
kept quiet as cowards oft’ times do.
Where once a grave left weeds to dwell,
perhaps a sniffing dog might tell.
Of passers-by, how could they know,
a crime most foul lay hid below
Who grieved, who sought to find her name
and all the more so out of shame?
She lost to none, no kin or friend,
when once upon a time, the end.