But when I was thinking about what poem to post today, I remembered this as a poem and went searching for it:
Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door; and if God wants to make my happiness complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies hanging from those trees. Before death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive one’s enemies– but not before they have been hanged.
Unfortunately, no one seems to list the translator, so they remain without credit
2 thoughts on “Not exactly a poem”
Hung, hanging, hanged.