Final Words

 

To whom shall I confess?
The priestly man, drab of garb,
the gaoler’s wife with flaxen
hair and breakfast tray: or
the executioner:
with terror masked?
To whom shall I confess?
And will it change the balance
now my guilt is known? I expect
no quarter
and ask for none.
Only this may I utter with
humbled breath:
that, whilst to live is to suffer,
to die is to forsake all
that I have loved.
The evidence is spake,
the jury may retire.
Let wisdom prevail upon ye
all. Falter not,
for thine is the power.
The verdict is…

… accepted.

Iain

(Written 1992)

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