The Tyburn tree

I was watching a TV show about 18th century English ‘rogues’ and they talked about the hanging site in London – known as the Tyburn tree. This poem came from that. I hope you like it.

My time has come,
My crimes before all
Gathered here to see;
To journey down
The Oxford road,
And join the
Tyburn tree.

Caught fair and square,
By mister Wilde and
That’s as how it be;
He’ll see me hang
Beneath the blue,
A fruit of
Tyburn tree.

This London town,
In all its filth has
Been a home to me;
And yet alas,
‘twil be my end,
Beneath the
Tyburn tree.

Yet no regret,
Does this son feel
For such a thief as he;
As he will grace
The swinging noose,
That hangs from
Tyburn tree.

And so we draw,
Amongst the crowds who
Stand and stare at me;
Their hero now
Has come in pride,
Before the
Tyburn tree.

Oh raise a drink,
And give a shout and
Maybe pray for me;
For here I end
With neck in noose,
Beneath the
Tyburn tree.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: