Little Brother
Little brother, do stand up high
And reach for my hand
Whilst I wipe your tears
And guide you past my stumbling toys
Like a drunken sailor with a blubbering cold
You latch on tight, like an Octopus bite
And catch my eye with that naive smile
To push-on by and walk with pride
No need for hands
Just a mischievous smirk
As you wave bye-bye
With my favourite toy!
Copyright © Mark Trichet | Year Posted 2014
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