Yes, yes, they will come true, and mine is the song of a people that is doomed.
But of these other words I will speak in their place.
I went to my mother.

Presently she raised herself from the ground and sat up with her hands over her face.

The blood from the wound the stick had made ran down her face on to her breast, and I wiped it away with grass.

She sat for a long while thus, while the child cried, the cow lowed to be milked, and I wiped up the blood with the grass.

At last she took her hands away and spoke to me.
"Mopo, my son," she said, "I have dreamed a dream.