His jacket, buttoned tight and neat,
A face of honour, proud and true,
An air of quiet dignity:
A man for all that they might say.
He stands to face the hero’s sword.
He offers up his throat quite calm.
His death was written long before.
His life was made to take that thrust.
As Erskine Childers said “shoot true”.
He knew the world would judge him well –
Might even call this martyrdom.
He stares the man right in the eyes.
The monster’s death was not the end:
They severed his head, then spun their lies.