The Hanging Tree Falls
A Poem by Rowan Blair Colver
As they shiver with lanterns at dusk in the hallows
And ghosts of figurines form in the tall leafless sapling forest
To the south. Across the cross road, by the second churchyard chapel
With the old hanging tree, petrified by age.
The initials of its victims warped and solidified,
We bring tooth and blade in the sunless shade,
It's time the old ways were pulled down.
'Though its branches neigh seen no noose for time we cannot say,
The fear, the shadow, the memory within its very wooden flesh,
Creeps. And the blessed little blighters they cry over the shape,
Claw like branches and terrifying creaks and groans,
The hilltop house, the bedroom light shines.
But they all died, who goes there?
Rowan Blair Colver
A Poem by Rowan Blair Colver
As they shiver with lanterns at dusk in the hallows
And ghosts of figurines form in the tall leafless sapling forest
To the south. Across the cross road, by the second churchyard chapel
With the old hanging tree, petrified by age.
The initials of its victims warped and solidified,
We bring tooth and blade in the sunless shade,
It's time the old ways were pulled down.
'Though its branches neigh seen no noose for time we cannot say,
The fear, the shadow, the memory within its very wooden flesh,
Creeps. And the blessed little blighters they cry over the shape,
Claw like branches and terrifying creaks and groans,
The hilltop house, the bedroom light shines.
But they all died, who goes there?
Rowan Blair Colver
