| Summary: | "There's an old, old legend, that's whispered by Southern folks, About the lacy Spanish moss that garlands the great oaks - A lovely princess and her love, upon their wedding day, Were struck-down by a savage foe amidst a bitter fray; United in death they were buried, so the legends go - 'Neath an oak's strong, friendly arms protected from their foe; There, as was the custom, they cut the brides long hair with love And hung its shining blackness on the spreading oak above; Untouched, undisturbed it hung there, for all the world to see And with the years the locks turned gray and spread from tree to tree."
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