I was prepared, my hair gently tied into a ball,

White linen pulled around my lower half of my neck,

My broad shoulders covered with a black shawl.

The tower bell struck one,

My fate was eventually soon.

Treason against the state,

It was simply not true .

I was led by to the sound of beating drums,

The sun warmed my somber face.

People bowed to me; some cried your Grace.

I was not afraid to die,

If the state demands it fine.

I know in my heart I hadn’t committed a crime.

Prayers were said, as my head was placed on the block,

Silver Madame gleamed wickedly from above.

Drum beat continued then the beat finally stopped.

Whoosh the blade slammed down,

My head severed in one clean cut.

Cheers and crying echoed around the packed town.

With a quick wipe Madame is pulled back up,

Your Grace rest in peace we will all remember and pray.

Can you call this justice my Lord on this bleakest of days?