The leaden moonlit bough
Swayed and collared high
A chairless shadow,
Shrouding men with
Hollow eyes;
Black as the breath
Of the stars, he hung,
Where men clothed in the silver of
Withering grass
Encircled and sang,
Holding their hands
To the fiery cross;
Lamenting the rope
That they lost
I only learned about this tonight, but apparently there was a lynching a few years ago, in a small mountai...
