The Sacrificial Ram: a Deathly Hallows poem

[Wolfie Gilmore]

Young flesh on the altar
Is art and tragedy
But my crabbed sneering form
Is no-one's idea
Of an elegant icon

I'm no beacon to generations
If I did the right thing
It was merely circumstance
I am a just a vessel
For shameful, private love

My meat and cooling blood
Lie on the stones
My sacrifice is adequate
The job is done.