The man hung from the tree,
In his hand, but naught.
His eyes full of ghosts
And what we once sought.

The desire was a flame
The fear, not a water.
He wanted what he'd lost,
And what he'd lost, did not falter.

For there she stood,
At the top of the hill.
In the mist with the judges,
Looking over his will.

The house, the carriage,
The furnishings a plenty.
They all went to her,
Followed by a penny.

But he just hung there,
From his lonely rope and tree.
His neck bone in pieces,
And his soul finally free.

Death did not scare him,
It never had.
For the desire trumped the fear
And for that, he was glad.

In his last moments,
Before the lever pulled,
Nothing could seize him,
And he was consoled.

Why you might ask?
Because he lost for a cause.
A noble deed indeed,
Deserving of applause.

He applauded himself,
For his love was alive,
Standing on the hills,
His rightful place, but his place to give.

And gave it he did,
From his place in the tree,
His eyes only reflecting
What now had come to be.