The Legacy

The sweating crowd breathed the stifling air, As four hooded figures quietly hanging there, Swayed back and forth without a breeze, While eyes could not avert from these. And as gleaming bayonets reflected the Sun, A flag in tatters and conciliation of one, And that one gone, a powerful friend, Who would have pleaded a merciful end. And then being taken by fanatical schemes, An end ignominious, predicted in dreams. So with the terrible carnage done, Was it over or had it just begun? And who knew what part these hanging would play, A legacy lasting to this very day.