The Fifty-Seven Brand

Through darkness three sons rode the land— The father fallen like a tree— They feared the fifty-seven brand. That death mark made each one a man— Age fifty-seven he died free— Through darkness three sons rode the land. Those years went by like snaking sand, Their father’s death a memory— They feared the fifty-seven brand. As each year dappled face and hand, His age at death still held the key— Through darkness three sons rode the land. The inner dread they could not stand, When fifty-seven each would be— They feared the fifty-seven brand. But as each touched that fatal strand, Their hearts would numb and spirit flee— Through darkness three sons rode the land— They feared the fifty-seven brand.