Poem: The Hangman's Heart by Blake Morrison they were fetched to where I waited on the hill, hissed and spat at by the sweating mob and convinced to the end - the end of a rope - that the power they stood accused of were a power they truly possessed. Each crossed herself as she climbed the steps and none cried out as I tied the noose. Witches? These were not witches, only weak and half-cracked biddies undone by wicked gossip and revenge. It were enough to snap an hangman's heart but not - I'm pleased to tell you, sire - the rope. This poem will be published by Faber in October, in Blake Morrison's collection A Discoverie of Witches. Morrison will speak at the Telegraph Ways with Words Festival on Sunday July 8 at 4pm.