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
fearing the scaffolds shadow
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 the game.
As Bet stepped onto the gallows 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
children won't forget...
© Steven Francis poems 2009
This blog contains poetry from 6 collections from Welsh poet Steven Francis, from 'Porn Soup' to 'Pedestrian Monsters'.
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About Me
- Steven Francis
- I started writing in school and discovered it was the only thing that could hold my interest (apart from sex). I knew from the lump inside me that some creative channel had to be my direction. And be good or bad it is some kind of legacy.
