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Upon a cold, November day

I stepped beyond the path

and found myself deep inside

a foul and darkened swath.

The air was still and silent

as the snow fell softly down

a wooden structure, dark and worn

rose from withered ground.

Wooden beam that spanned the peak

upon a weathered base.

An icon of an older time

that I never can erase.

The rope was old and fragile

and the boards were worn and stained

the image of this deathly thing

were burned within my brain

Significance apparent

I stood in mortal fear

as if some spectre approached me

and bade me to come near.

The shadows played across the glade

and a wind blew against the rope

and, I, inside; with reviled eye

felt no sense of hope.

Then sun was setting quickly

as I found the path again

The gallows in the twilight

would ne’er be this mans end.