A candle burns in the foyer alone:
The children retired to a foreign alcove,
Though not long ago did their laughs ring loud
And filled the room with some fragile joy.
A shadow slips through the door alone:
No gentle ear hears him through the alcove
Nor notice the silence grow too loud
And the knife blade glint in it’s macabre joy.
One! Two! Down the blows – ’til he’s alone
‘til ichor drips to stain the silent alcove
No stranger the stranger when he laughs out loud
And dead ears learn of his paternal joy.
The candle that burns is not alone
Yet the children retired to a foreign alcove
While not long ago did their laughs ring loud
What filled the room was some fragile joy.