A Traitor’s Death

Wringing his hands
The clergy walks
Below the planks

Where stands a man
Condemned to die
For wicked things

Above the boards
A gentle creak
Betrays the soles

Of hooded men
With tools to make
The scene unfold

A Traitor’s death
Pronounced upon
The blinded face

A tired man
Condemned to die
For wicked things

The innocent
In silent rows
Before the stage

A verdict wrote
In faded ink
Upon a page

Within the cord
A last reward
His wages paid

A tired man
Condemned to die
For wicked things

From underneath
The ebony
His sunless cloak

The eyes are closed
But still they see
The charges made

Without a word
Or further stay
The floor gives way

For a tired man
A wicked man
Or so they say

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