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A child stares at the tree where her daddy was hanged.

Submitted:Apr 3, 2009    Reads: 163    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


Grass tickling the hem
Of her cotton dress she stands
Gazing at the tree;

Not this tree, never,
But another tree right by,
Blood stained in the day

And saddened at night
By its desperate burden,
Souls departing close.

Old it is, and gnarled,
And used by Justice awhile
And bad men swing there.

Kill a man, get caught,
"String him up," the good men cry
And this is that tree.

A tear, smudge of damp
On her little cream-pale face,
Big eyes open wide.

Watching the swinging
Breeze-blown dangling skeleton
Of her lost daddy.

(c)Peter Rogerson 04.11.07


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