I was but a child of five,
When tragedy struck home.
"Your son, I fear may not survive,"
They told Dad on the phone.
My teenage brother was run down
As he had crossed the street.
It happened in another town
Where he had gone to meet
Some friends and see a "picture show,"
The name of which I do not know.
So I was taken from my bed
And still asleep, I'm told,
As parents left me, facing dread
For what their night would hold.
I wakened in Aunt Grace's arms
Where Mom and Dad had placed me.
She calmed my childish fear-alarms
And all the doubts that chased me.
What do you tell a frightened tot
To ease their troubled mind?
My Aunt, without a second thought
Had found a way, so kind.
"Don't whimper. I've the perfect fix.
Just try to think of baby chicks".
And to this day in search of sleep
I count my chicks instead of sheep.
My parents now are with their son
All things must end I fear.
But I recall the night I won
Sweet sleep from brother dear.
No comments:
Post a Comment