My Brother

I never met him because he died before I came,
run over by a bus for playing a stupid game,
right outside our house, one sunny summer's day,
God wanted him, divine providence, so they say.

I want him too, to tell him that I'm here,
make sure the road is clear, brush away a tear,
I know the photo, the boy with blonde white hair,
but his untimely parting, gone, was just not fair.

He's part of me, because I was born four months after,
the house was quiet, no sunshine, nothing, no laughter,
mom and dad padded around as tho' something was missing,
it was - no shrieks, no 'his world,' no smiley eyes, no kissing.

But I WAS there, still carried by mom, above and below,
if I could have spoke, I would have said: 'Please don't go.'