I witnessed my own hanging,
From prices paid in sand,
I saw the gallows growing taut
As silver crossed my hand.
The man who had died up there,
Was a replica of me,
But no-one had seen it come,
I’m what I never used to be.
I turned from all the laughter,
All the pointing, smiling eyes,
It seems my name was breezy,
Devoid of piteous cries.
I left the scene dejected,
And wandered lonely, free,
I know no longer who I am,
I’m a replica of me.
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem