By S. Pate
Oh sister why treat a brother so
Our only conversation when its time to go
Our mother may lie dying upon the floor
And her simple gesture is to show me the door
Oh sister hear my sad complaint
A plaintive love song this surely ain’t
If you have news then let me know
Its nature and end my anxious woe.
O sister I’d call the other if I could
Years have taken away what little good
Might have been when we were seventeen
And the world looked starry and green.
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