A Brother's Touch Poem by Robert Winthrop

When we were kids and sent to bed
When dusk had barely passed,
My brother Tom and I would play
A game, "I Touched You Last."

We'd lie there in our double bed
Where nothing could be seen,
And then a hand would slowly snake
Across the space between.

"I touched you last, " we'd say and then
Edge back across the bed.
The other one would wait awhile,
Pretending to be dead.

Then he would reach one finger out
And touch the other's arm.
"I touched you last! " he'd shout with glee
Then scoot away from harm.

The game might last for minutes or
Until we tired of it.
Or till our mother heard us and
Demanded that we quit.

The years flew by and we would fight
And often disagree.
I did not tell him how I cared,
And he did not tell me.

Yet through the years when we were grown
Tom's goodness touched my heart:
The birthdays he remembered
When we were far apart.

His kindness to our mother,
The sadness he endured
When his dear Susan passed away
Would touch a heart inured.

To ease the pain of parting when
He went away to war,
He said, "Hey, Bro, I touched you last, "
And hopped into his car.

I could not help but smile then as
I watched him drive away.
To know that he remembered touched
My heart all through the day.

And then word of the accident
That told us Tom was gone.
The sense of loss that darkened
What had been a crimson dawn.

We brought Tom home to be near us
And then we learned how much
So many other friends of Tom
Had known our brother's touch.

We listened to the eulogies
By friends and family
That told how Tom had touched their lives
As Tom had so touched me.

Then as in single file we looked
On one so dear who'd passed,
I placed one finger on his brow,
"Hey, Bro, I touched you last."