The Hanging Tree

No bodies on the hanging tree?
The village folk all shake their heads
It's bad luck there's no shape to see
To keep the things under the beds.

They will creep out and seize a child
If nothing shows them there's a cost,
And if they - daring - get too wild
It's all too likely someone's lost.

Old Mother Danae knows it well
In youth she lost her first-born son
To something creeping out of hell,
She knows that something must be done.

But they've grown shadowy and sere
Cunning and canny, hard to catch
Their laughter now is cruel, and fear
Creaks with each rattling bolt and latch.

The answer is debated hard
Although not long when all is said
It hardly matters who's on't yard
If they've a red-cap on't their head.

For fay folk they squint hard at noon
Just see 'cap swing 'neath the tree
And tourists? They were leaving soon
And easier now to catch, they be.