Tag Archives: hanging

No Grace Forlorn

Even on this bitter and cold morn, their is bird song.

The little brook rolls and gurgles and babbles along.

Sunlight, but darkness for me will come before long.

I turn my face to the blue sky, for to air I will belong.


My body is torn, broken, but I stand now so proud.

I am in the hands of my enemies, an invading shroud.

I did not break. I did not give in. I said no name aloud.

I don not feel their eyes, or the angry sniggers of the crowd.


A teetering, improvised gallows, the pull the noose down.

I think of the haunted forests, and family, in my little town.

They offer pardon, they offer relief, if I give names, breakdown.

I say: “You will know their names when they snatch your crown.”


And I hear a bird sing, high and clear in the cold morn.

I know in spring the war will rage, as animals are born.

I close my eyes, I have been strong, my true face so worn.

Drop and snap, darkness claims me, no grace forlorn.