On The Beheading Of Eugene Olin Armstrong Poem by Leo Yankevich

His was not only one more tale of death
read and forgotten by the end of day.
This time I clicked the link, and short of breath,
watched a trembling man begin to pray
as five armed militants with hooded faces
announced the sentence that would end his life,
(a life spent building homes in far off places) .
But God forgive if I recall the knife
cutting through his larynx, neck and spine,
the awful hollow noises of his lungs,
the ghostless whimper of his final whine,
though to the left of him the morning sun
rushed through the curtain from the window-pane,
and angels pleaded with the wind in vain.