The Prodigal Brother Poem by Mark Heathcote

I felt him stood on my doorstep, back at home
On that doorstep towered, as old in my heart
I felt him standing on my doorstep at home
His, forgotten arms still tender, to my heart.

He was lifting, scooping me up into his arms
Oh how I fluttered like a dove off the ground.
All the weight of the years lifted like a charm
Here was my brother from the grave - abounds.

Again arms around me it couldn't be a mistake
I felt his arms, his weight, he made my backache.
For few seconds I thought I'd won the sweepstakes.