Under the tree where the bodies hang
swaying, dancing in the gelid breeze
neath their rotting toes, the children sang;
slow circling a boy; they taunt and tease.
"It's your father and your mother, too,"
they chant, as one, fiery eyes aglow,
"Who dance on the rope, and soon will you."
to the cadence of a cawing crow.
"We'll slice you up and...
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