After a recent visit from my 6 foot 2 younger brother, I had another look at this very old poem, written when he was a shy, lego-obsessed 10-year old. He’s now 26! Still mysterious, but quite lovely.


I was nineteen when you were born.
Waiting for you shortened that first scary
winter term away from home.
I saw you only hours old, little brother,
two weeks late; wrinkled skin, big feet.

You can read the rest of this poem about his growing up, on


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