It’s the year of 1859,

And my friend’s husband Bill is out again,

Risking his life,

For his kids and Gwen his wife. We are a poor family too,

But we don’t do what they do,

As death is the penalty,

But we do admire them greatly.

On one spring night Bill,

Bought back some fine silk,

He sneakily concealed them in his oven,

The next morning guess what Gwen had forgotten?

Old Bill did not live long,

He didn’t do much wrong.

On one October morning he was hanged,

So now Gwen brings in the contraband.

Copyright © Zoe Hunter June 2022