Poem a Day XXII

Sleeve

"Why, my son, is it I see
the red of blood upon your sleeve?
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"It is some dye, some dye you see,
red as blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"Too rusty-dark, my son, to be
some dye you've spilled upon your sleeve!
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"It is the bulldog's blood you see,
red as blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"Too human-red, my son to be
the bulldog's blood upon your sleeve!
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"It is your youngest son you see,
red as blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"And how, my son, could this thing be,
your brother's blood upon your sleeve!
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"We struggled by the willow tree;
his blood was red upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"What shall you do, now that we see
your brother's blood upon your sleeve?
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"Nothing's left but to rise and flee
with brother's blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"Where shall you go, where shall you flee
so marked with death upon your sleeve?
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"In a ship I'll flee across the sea
though brother's blood be on my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"What of your own son, age of three;
must he be marked with your bloody sleeve?
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"Care for him, let him be free
of shame of blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."

"Will you return or ever be free
of stigma and shame from the bloody sleeve?
Son, my son, come speak to me."
"On Judgment Day I might be free
of shame of blood upon my sleeve,
bloody red upon my sleeve."