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John Babbacombe Lee

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John Babbacombe Lee

I am standing
in a dimly lit room,
upon a hatchway
with a hangman’s noose; above.

A shadowy figure
places the noose
around my neck,
for I can, not protest.

The floor below drops
my head is wrenched
against my body, and
my life, should have ended.

I can’t believe the events
my life has been saved,
and I live, to tell the tale,
as the man they couldn’t hang.

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