Murders rarely inspire poetry, which the following hardly is.

But this was written by Lloyd Robinson while he wilted in the Marshfield, Missouri prison awaiting his trial for the murder of his father on June 3, 1935.

The poem would of made it difficult to deny guilt and in any event, he was sentenced to life imprisonment.

They put me up to kill him
My poor old white-haired dad
I done it with a horseshoe rasp
The only thing I had

I snuck right up behind him
While he ate his supper cold
I hit him once upon the head
Just like I was told

He didn’t make no holler
All he did was groan
My maw, she grabbed him by the feet
And my, how she did moan

And now I sure am sorry
I done this terrible crime
For killin’ my poor old daddy
I’ll soon be doing time.

REFERENCES

  • Duhaime, Lloyd, Poetic Justice: Law Poems
  • Goodman, J., Bloody Versicles: The Rymes of Crime (Newton Abbott, 1971), page 55.