First Degree Poem by Richard Jarboe

Yes, she shot him,
The neighbors wondered why,
He was so handsome,
He was too young to die.

They'll hang her tomorrow,
From a sycamore tree,
They called it murder,
But it was love in the first degree.

The girl is small; she won't break the rope,
Standing with the hangman; she's just trying to cope,
'Cos there's no hope; she'll never be free,
That's the price you pay for the first degree.

This degree is hard to define,
Love betrayed turns to crime,
Hate that comes from jealousy,
Can be deadly... deadly in this first degree.