Poem Eight: A Story From Effrinagh

He dangled in the air.
The rope was made of flax.
The trial wasn't fair.
He dangled in the air
Beside the courthouse where
The truth got mauled by facts.
He dangled in the air.
The rope was made of flax.
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Retrieval is an art.
She saved the piece of rope
That yanked his life apart.
Retrieval is an art.
The cure worked on the heart
With flax and words and hope.
Retrieval is an art.
She saved the piece of rope.