There is at least one more folk song: "I met a girl. She dumped me, so I died, so she died, and thorny vines grew from our graves."

The version of Barbara Allen that I know best, from Patrick Gainer of Central West Virginia, begins:

"One morning in the month of May,
The green buds were a-swelling,
Young Johnny Green on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barbara Allen..."

Kent