Brother and Sisters Love
Author: Valerie Dupont
I see a brother and sister,
sitting over there together,
fighting over a toy,
they just can't seem to see,
their love shining through,
with every smile that they bring.
sitting over there together,
fighting over a toy,
they just can't seem to see,
their love shining through,
with every smile that they bring.
A Brother Is
Author: Unknown
A brother is someone
with fun-loving ways
with wit and good humor
to spare.
He does thoughtful things
without any fuss
and when you're in trouble
he's there.
A brother is more
than just part of the family..
he's also a friend
through and through.
And that's a description
that certainly fits
a wonderful brother like you.
with fun-loving ways
with wit and good humor
to spare.
He does thoughtful things
without any fuss
and when you're in trouble
he's there.
A brother is more
than just part of the family..
he's also a friend
through and through.
And that's a description
that certainly fits
a wonderful brother like you.
Holding Hands
Author: Suzie Huitt
Brother and sister,
together as friends,
ready to face
whatever life sends.
Joy and laughter
or tears and strife,
holding hands tightly
as we dance through life.
together as friends,
ready to face
whatever life sends.
Joy and laughter
or tears and strife,
holding hands tightly
as we dance through life.
Sisters
Author Osip Mandelstam
Author Osip Mandelstam
Sisters - Heaviness and Tenderness- you look the same.
Wasps and bees both suck the heavy rose.
Man dies, and the hot sand cools again.
Carried off on a black stretcher, yesterday’s sun goes.
Oh, honeycombs’ heaviness, nets’ tenderness,
it’s easier to lift a stone than to say your name!
I have one purpose left, a golden purpose,
how, from time’s weight, to free myself again.
I drink the turbid air like a dark water.
The rose was earth; time, ploughed from underneath.
Woven, the heavy, tender roses, in a slow vortex,
the roses, heaviness and tenderness, in a double-wreath.
Wasps and bees both suck the heavy rose.
Man dies, and the hot sand cools again.
Carried off on a black stretcher, yesterday’s sun goes.
Oh, honeycombs’ heaviness, nets’ tenderness,
it’s easier to lift a stone than to say your name!
I have one purpose left, a golden purpose,
how, from time’s weight, to free myself again.
I drink the turbid air like a dark water.
The rose was earth; time, ploughed from underneath.
Woven, the heavy, tender roses, in a slow vortex,
the roses, heaviness and tenderness, in a double-wreath.
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