I am here for you brother,
Holding the pain of our sister and Mother.
The rain on the canvas washed away color,
with proof of the fiction masked by another.
I wish God would tell me;
the words to secrete.
I dream of this order for him to see,
and demand trumpets of my whispered decree!
Brother, please, please take my hand,
and with synching motion we step to the day,
when hide-and-go seek was only for play,
and laughter sang hope for our Father today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
lovely Beautiful remind me old days