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Blue Skies of August 27 Poems. Click on image to order.
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Blue Skies of August 27 Poems. Click on image to order.

Photo by: Hubert Crowell

My Brother

The longer my mother cried, the tighter I held her,
A stillborn child, a lost brother, it still seems a blur.

Buried without a name in the cemetery on the hill.
Never to feel the wind or to have that thrill,

of riding a bike with me through the country side.
Never to see the ocean, the waves or moon at high tide.

I longed for a bother to share life and all it has to offer.
But then again I know were he's at and he did not suffer.

I blamed myself and thought I might have been the cause,
by my actions, until I had time to think and pause.

There were more factors involved than I could perceive.
When things go wrong, how near sighted we can be,

thinking we are always the ones at fault.
One day I will ask God about things that are difficult.

And sit down with my mother and brother to share,
experiences, like caving and a close call with a bear,

and all the other experiences that life gave to me,
There must be a reason he died and not me.

--Hubert Crowell

2010 Hubert C. Crowell