Mortal enemies, they were.
One born good, the other evil.
White and black,
their colors of choice.
A lifetime of war,
now, was over.
The evil one captured,
imprisoned by the good,
as was slipped over his head
a rope, thick, strong.
His pacing, stopped,
the one in white kissed,
the kiss of death,
to the cheeks of the other,
and farewell he bid, with no ado.
A lever, the executioner did throw,
and the evil one fell.
Taught grew the rope,
as his neck it did snap,
the man in black.
As turned away, our man in white
the people did see,
the single tear shed
as our hero wept
over the death of his brother.
The End
Copyright January 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson
