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.