Only Four Out Of All Of Them

Prisoners– Certainly!
Will die– suddenly!
They are the tally marks on their walls
And the boiling juice in their galls.

Four for the firing squad,
The rest– favour the odd.
Numbers are the wives they know,
Sentences seem to say hello.

Debt must be paid
Dying? Don’t aid!
Some fruits are ripe for harvest,
The birds can’t feed on dust.

Numbers– count them!
Tallys–mark them!
Your hangman is the night king
Dragons dead can still be walking.

Younglan Louis