Brother new, sister blue, I miss you.
Both lost at age four. Pain is evermore.

Is it wrong that I still long to belong?
To share every care and touch your hair?

To pillow fight, fly a kite, hold me tight,
whisper secrets in the dark, swing in the park?

We were three with esprit, now there’s me.
There’s no gloss on loss. It’s all dross
but for remembered gleams, moonbeam dreams.

Happy times are past but memories last.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Brenda Davis Harsham lives and writes in New England and publishes on Friendlyfairytales.com for kids of all ages.

Loss is tough, no matter your age.
She understands this all too well as she was the sole survivor of a car crash at age 4. This poem is dedicated to her siblings, lost but not forgotten.

Her poetry and prose have been published in on-line literary journals including Silver Birch Press, The Writing Garden and The Paperbook Collective. A poem is forthcoming in Best of Today’s Little Ditty Anthology.

Visit Brenda at: Friendlyfairytales.com, Twitter: @BrendaDHarsham