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He Ain’t Heavy

I was adopted and can remember it too,
I was three & my brother was two,
The horror of being taken away from our mom.
We left her sobbing. I tried to be calm.
Taken to a house of cribs and strange boys.
My brother and I didn’t make any noise.
I kept on asking when mommy would come.
I couldn’t accept it. I became numb.
Back then, my brother was all that I had.
I’d guard his crib as if I were his dad.
Above my bed was a little square hatch.
The big boys said above it was a latch.
Bogey Man would come down to fetch.
In nightmares, me, he would always catch.
All night, I’d watch that hatch and my brother.
After some days, I couldn’t watch further.
One morning, I found my brother was gone.
The home decided to orphan me alone.
Better to split us for speedy adoption,
But for me, this wasn’t an option.
Without my brother, I was as good as dead.
My body shut down, my strength all but fled.
At three, I was dying, the dark gate I neared.
They brought him back, for my health they feared.
60 years have passed from that time.
My brother and I haven’t always rhymed.
Fight like a couple of bears, bruised and bloody,
But he’ll always be
my number one buddy.

–Limericist 2007

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