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