I never had much call

To travel the Hilltown road

to Mayobridge.

But this cold

autumn night

There was cause

To visit a farm stead.

A mother and father

Stood in the yard

Staring steadfastly

At the open barn door.

Within their son

Carrying the hopes

And the burden of

All their futures;

Hung by a length

Of coarse old rope,

A note in

his jacket pocket

of sorrow, of love,

of shame; taking the blame.