Tuesday, 8 January 2008


Every hour seemed like a day
As on his wooden bunk he lay
He marked each day on the grey cell wall
A futile gesture after all
He knew he’d never rest content
Till he proved that he was innocent
Twenty long years dragged on so slow
While he anguished on Iowa’s death row
“living” ‘neath death’s ever imminent threat
to pay to society his so unearned debt
grasping at every futile chance to hope
to leave behind death’s slippery slope
suicide must have crossed his mind
as he faced his monotonous daily grind
but then his thoughts would inevitably roam
to his family and friends he’d long left at home
then at year twenty one the die was cast
a ray of hope emerged at last
provided he abandoned his innocent plea
and signed for manslaughter he could go free
what passed for “justice”had been done
a so called “pardon”had been won

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