As the evening embers
crackled on the horizon,
the frogs croaked
as he did
hung from a golden tree.
Truth isn't white
or black but
justice was.
with swift retribution.
no goodbye.
In the heavy, warm heat,
with the grasshoppers
screaming in our ears,
we cut his limp, broken
body down.
Just a boy. His mamma held
her sweet child to the
bosom. One last time.
His eyes, empty,
filled with stars.
A wind rustled through.
Uneasy, sad, carrying the
departed. Darkness envelopes.
The willows weeped
- trees of lamentation.
