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Argyle Goolsby
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Washer at the Ford
Stranger, don't be afraid.
I am in no shape to do you harm
Though frightened you surely are by me
Grant me a moments vended knee.
Dismiss this blood spray on my clothes
I can assure you it's my own.
Though I lay bearing no cruel wound
The witch on the ford surely sealed my doom.
Oh God, I think I'm marked.
Stranger lend me your ear
Hear these last words of a dying man
I testify a great misdeed
My true loves heart I have aggrieved
I broke off for another belle
She conjured up vengeance she conjured up hell
She put that webbed witch there square in my path
Soaking my clothes with the blood of the past.
From round' yonder bend she came closing in
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The shadowy washer at the ford
Jacklights were her eyes fortelling demise
The flickering washer at the ford.
Now I know I'm marked.
Stranger could it be we've met someplace before?
You grow resemblance to my lover whom I've recent scorned.
'Yes fallen friend, we did aquaint once on a stroll
Round' yonder bend, now let me wring those stains out
From your soul'.
She wailed as she washed. She laughed at the cross
I hastily patterned cross my chest.
My vestment she wrung and ruefully flung these burgundy bloodstains
Cross' my breast.
From round' yonder bend she came closing in. The shadowy washer
At the ford. Jacklights were her eyes fortelling demise.
The flickering washer at the ford.
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