Sign

Far from here, a house forsaken on lands of yesterday The silence of the night has crept in As weeping of the women, as thoughts of solitude As sadness and as grief In a dim deserted room a token left on the table A talisman, a hairbrush from his father Oozing from the shaft a stream of bitter sap Dripping scarlet flow, so slow They know it to be an emblem of death A sign of destruction They recognize the end of a friend The agony of a man and son They look at brush, remember the black hair They weep the bitter sap Oozing from the shaft a stream of bitter sap Dripping scarlet flow, so slow Bristles weeping wet, into a pool of red Dripping scarlet flow, so slow