Tuesday's sun was barely risen
Ghoulish scribes thronged the prison
Lead him in, holding him upright
His eyes were round, his face affright.
Strapped he was, firmly in the
A sense of finality electrified the air
The warder turned to make one last call
Had the Governor intervened to thwart us all?
He turned, death beaming from his
Ted Bundy was gifted his last surprise
With costly silk they draped his head
Knowing full well he had made his own bed.
Last minute checks by the State
He had refused the priest's Holy remission
Singing current surged, a tendril of smoke
Seven sixteen said the clock, its final stroke.
Written by Dale E. Malone, Well,
do you miss him?
The Great & Wonderful Kahuna wants to know!
Last modified: April 26, 2009