It was a cold clear Ozark night.
The stars were bold and shining bright
When the fiddle playing
Caught up with the echoes of the hounds

The full moon was beaming high.
The fog was heavy, wispy, and white
When the revenuer came sneaking around

He had followed the sweet smell.
Coming up across the dogwoods
Brushing lightly by the Sarvis blooms

When he reached the cleared opening
There sat a copper homemade still
And six men making homebrew.

Drinking black coffee
Listening to the coyote’s howl
They never looked up
They knew him, and he knew them too

There was no question in their minds.
Of what had to be done, and the revenuer knew it too
As the scent of the corn liqueur slowly drifted up the holler.
That tax man knew his death was coming soon.

So, past the Sycamore trees
Underneath the mountain skies
Lay a dirt unmarked grave
Where no human name abounds

The government man lay silent.
Just a pile of worn bones
He disappeared without a trace or a sound.

The Old Timers say that’s what happened
On a starry Ozark night
When the revenuer came around.

@Tammy M Darby February 27, 2023