When A Despot Dies Poem by Terry Dawson

A din rose up in the land of the lost
As news fell on the ear
And great the clamour to accost
The one who now drew near
Out of the throats of the too-soon dead
A fearful banshee curled
For he, so long the face of dread
Has gained the spirit world

From mine shaft and from shallow grave
The angry dead arise
The armies of the ghostly brave
Swirl upward to the skies
And each avenging spirit bears
A toll it must extract
Each through the long and empty years
Has kept its vow intact

And to the rising gyre of din
With fearful halting tread
The new ghost frail and ghastly thin
Advanced with awful dread.
All saw the terror in his eye,
'Fear not', they say as one
And still with single voice they cry
'Your torment's just begun...'