by RedexNorthumberland, England, UK
Aug 2017 380 Views 0 comments
WILLIAM WINTER
1792
Fear gripped his heart
ripped it apart.
His trembling limbs
had knowledge of his sins
Hanging was the game.
Survival was plain-
nonsense he knew.
So right on queue
he, the last one
swung on the gibbet,
until his bones withered.
Fear gripped his heart
ripped it apart.
His trembling limbs
had knowledge of his sins
Hanging was the game.
Survival was plain-
nonsense he knew.
So right on queue
he, the last one
swung on the gibbet,
until his bones withered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2017
About this poem:
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