There was a group outside the prison gate,
Waiting to hear them ring the passing bell,
Waiting as empty people always wait
For the strong toxic of another's hell.
And mother stood there, too, not seeing well,
Praying through tears to let His will be done,
And not to hide His mercy from her son.
Talk in the little group was passing quick.
'It's nothing now to what it was, to watch.'
'Poor wretched kid, I bet he's feeling sick.'