For me, there's more poetry in the sung (not just read)
lyrics of some 
seemingly conventional back-country mountain ballads
than there is in so much apparently "artistic" poetry. 

'Utah Phillips' songs are well known to fans of folk, country
and bluegrass music. The songwriters and performers Buddy
and his wife Julie Miller sing this great ballad on one of their

Where the first few stanzas and choruses may seem a conventional 
anguished cry of a jilted lover, the final two stanzas burst 
into real poetry when you hear it sun--a chilling, devastating, 
wrongful but paradoxically beautifully articulated 
fantasy of homicidal revenge.


By Bruce ("Utah") Phillips

On the banks of the river
Where the willows hang down
Where the wild birds all warble
With a low moaning sound
NowI lie on my bed
And  I see your sweet face
The past I  remember
Time can't erase

The letter you wrote me
It was written in shame
And I know that your conscience
Still echoes my name

Now the nights are so long
My sorrow runs deep
Nothing is worse 
Than a night without sleep
I walk out  alone
I look at the sky
Too empty to sing
Too lonesome to cry

Now if the ladies were blackbirds
And the ladies were thrushes
I'd lie there for hours
In the chilly cold marshes

If  the ladies were squirrels
With them high bushy tails
I'd fill up my shotgun
With rock salt and nails.

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