A shadow fell across the moon
the day my brother died
and grief poured from my soul
and tore me up inside.
I can't remember, in this short life
and perhaps I've never tried,
to think about the grief and sorrow
the day my brother died,
for he was but a child of five
and should have lived, much longer.
I'm sure he would have if God had made
his body that much stronger.
The years have passed, as has the grief and sorrow
and eyes then wet with tears, have dried,
but I will always remember
the day my brother died.