I know what it is to be the younger brother,
though I have never had one older.
I know the peace in mother's arms,
though I am not sure I told her.
I know the rhythm of father's knee
and remember liking warmer milk more than colder.
But, I don't know all the dreams you bring along,
nor all the talents in each finger.
I will be at your side from time to time,
and, if you want, I will linger.
Otherwise, I leave you on your own
(except for the mother and father you have chosen).
Just permit me a few of a busybody's peeks
and then some of an uncle's devotion.
To The Son of Friends
Bob Komives
Fort Collins (c) 1995 :: 9519
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