A scattering of silver coins
Litters the barren ground,
Barely gleaming under the sullen sky.
Rope and bough together groan
As their ghastly burden twists,
Slowly turning, surveying the fields around.
The hanged man reeks of death.
His friend, betrayed, bewildered, comes
On wounded feet, on dusty ground,
Bearing a gift he could never accept.
This one never feared the unclean,
The touch of death, of leper, of sin,
So now he clasps his dead friend's feet,
And bathes them with his tears.
More than his betrayal, this suicide
Is proof of his misunderstanding:
For if vengeance is due, it is due to him.
"I came to show you," says his friend,
"As I showed the others.
But I think you have already seen."
A kiss, and he is gone.