This is a poem by Maurice Ogden that really spoke to me:
Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame,
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And he built his frame on the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide,
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime,
The Hangman judged with the yellow twist
Of knotted hemp in his busy fist.