Bloodthirsty Bet what have you done?
The stranger dead
your only son.
Taught him money was warm as gin,
and greed it was
that put a blade in him.
Time passed slowly in Roscommon gaol,
fear the scaffold's grip
and hemp pigtail.
She was not alone on her final night,
and all condemned
cursed the morning light.
On the chosen day no hangman came,
but Death was eager
so upped its game.
As Bet stepped onto the wooden cloud
she removed the noose
and said aloud.
'Spare my neck and I'll hang the others!'
And so it was,
she swung her convict brothers.
No souls it seemed could quench fair Bet,
the Irish bloodhound
who slipped her net...
@Steven Francis poems 2009
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