To all the sisters that had, wanted or needed big  brothers...gentle smiles to all of you.
....................................................


The soft scrape of wood against wood
on the old wooden porch,
A pair of hands touching with a gentle touch.

Smiling, my thoughts drifting to the past,
of other times and smaller hands, pushing,
saying nothing, until finally a questioning cry.

"Rock me, brother, I’ve hurt myself again.
Love me brother, as only you can.
Make me well, hold in  your tender hands."

Crawling in my lap, her head on my chest
my shirt growing damp from tears finally shed,
folding arms around her, holding her close.

Rocking away on the old wooden porch.

Stroking her hair, I gently asked,
Have you skinned your knee again, as in the past?
The answer came, muffled with tears.

"This time, my heart has been skinned,  brother dear.
Tell me it won’t last. It won’t heal like my knee would do.
Fix it, brother, like only you ever would."

Then, sister dear, I will kiss your heart as I did your knee,
binding the wounds with love and peace.
Hearts will heal, like a skinned up knee, if you will only listen to me.

Rocking away on the old wooden porch.

To heal the heart, it has to have rest.
By picking scabs of the past, you make it raw.
Love will come again, and the heart finally will mend.

Leave the past in yesterday,
with only good memories allowed to stay.
Today has the peace you wish to find.

To cure the hurt, leave the hurts behind.
Look for the morrow, when is all brand new.
This your brother will say to you.

She gave a sigh, then a small smile.
With a little girl voice, she said to me,
"I knew you could fix, holding tenderly."

Rocking away on the old wooden porch