The Burghers of Calais

To the streets with the ropes around their necks. Keys in hand, sacrifice, trudging on. A year has passed and Calais is lost. Starvation, famine, capitulation, a Faustian offer displayed: send forth six of their richest. Adorn them in rags and nooses. Their fate is undeniable. The rest will spare. With all the strength left that he could gather, their mayor, St-Pierre, volunteers. Five brave men step forward, with apprehension, to follow his lead

What option left, save the honorable one: lay down their lives and begin the march. Take them away

March, march, keys in hand, sacrifice. To their fate they walk, fraught with altruism. Their sinewy hands grip to the point of bleeding. The city walls, they glisten with the tears of a fresh morning dew. The sun in all its glory casts the biggest shadow on this day

A starving city waits overwrought and nervously. ‘Not like this! There has to be a better way!’

So they walk, keys in hand, even file, measured step. Heads sunk low by the shackles that drag them closer to the earth. The gravity of coming death; dragging feet, labored breath. The city lives by the hearts of these six brave men who can save them. ‘Who can save them?’ The tragedy that could have been. ‘Who can save them?’ The city lives by the hearts of these. The city lives, the city lives, the city lives…