First published in Spring, 2011, Volume 7, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

Along dimly lit streets 

Hidden In cobblestone 

Crevices, darkened alley ways 

Given to footsteps 

Creeping beneath moon’s light

Hunched against the cold

The foulness of his breath

A stench to behold

Stray dogs sniff 

Out the evil that lays 

Within the secrets of night

Hushed whispers of 

Heinous deeds

Nourishment for 

Feverish greed

Drudging along the 

Graveyard’s path

Tombstones and withering 

Wreaths for the dead

Eyes affix upon 

A grave to rob

He swings his spade 

To hallowed ground

Disturbing a loved

Ones peaceful mound

He grapples at heirlooms

A ring or watch

Before the taking 

Of body parts

To sell in the 

Market place of hell

A heart stone cold

Having robbed 

His own grave 

Of his soul