Sibling Spirit
My brother’s image called by last night,
calm and peaceful to see him there.
He was all attired in his cricket white
a sweater that I once hand knitted might
get bigger and longer with each wear.
And I was happy but tears pricked my eye
with the sheer joy at this, yet I took stock;
What brought him to me was the biggest why?
Both young again, what does that imply?
His sun-bleached dirty blonde falling lock.
Awry smile on his summer tanned face
the half wink tick of his eye still there,
joking as always about the old place,
a cricket player with such easy grace
sweet fleeting vision of a sibling pair.
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