The Hanging Tree
The Tree still stands, proud and tall,
for one and all.
It's twisted branches block out light,
Life no more,
it's black as night.
A rope once strong, now frayed and torn,
Was once the
necklace criminals wore.
Hanging now it marks the spot,
hung, swayed, and rot.
Crouching silently with ready feet,
The wolves wait
patiently for the ill-got meat.
Life doesn't rest on or around,
Tree is Death from tip to ground.
Its roots are twisted 'round lost souls,
what left, lie in shallow holes.
Back in history it was said to be,
most evil, darkest Hanging Tree.