The Keeper Of The Heads Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The voices from the heads had nought to say,
Wallace & Cromwell set high on a stalk
Like grisly flowers, their bodies cut away!

Across the Thames Bridge, strollers liked to walk
Upon such executions, pause to think
Beheaded victims can no longer talk

The Keeper of the Heads, lest they should stink,
Would boil then tar them most industriously
And after months, would toss them in the drink

Traitors and rebels, suffered cruelly
Because they crossed some monarch's harsh demands
No one to heed each condemned fervent plea

Hung, drawn & quartered by the headsman's hands
The severed heads were flapped by ravens' wings
As stiff as toppers upon Death's hat stands

For centuries such horror they did bring,
To match a Fuehrer's lust for evil things
Such public savagery's no place today?
Man's cruelty is just one step away!