Poems

The Hangman

He helped the wretch rise to his feetWhen thrice had stumbled he;With a gentle pull on tattered rags,The bondsman made no plea. “Come now, poor soul; I’ll try to lead…”He whispered, almost cried—Yet cloudy orbs of muted thanksWas the wretch’s sole reply. I watched this scene from noisy crowd.The contrast was quite stark:Youth and age […]