Sometimes I’m still that St. John’s girl
Bleached blonde by summer’s sun
I look back on tender yesterdays
At all that she has done

The budding artist, in love, she dreamed
Of pretty horses in collage
The magic spun in scrapbooking
Her passionate montage

Remembering the songs, the plays,
Sweet poetry of youth
What fun we had as siblings then
Before we learned the truth

Sometimes I’m still that high-strung lass
Who cries alone at night
The little sixties flower child
Who tried with all her might

To do what was always expected
To pass another test
To get another golden star
That proved she’d done her best

Yet all things pass, the loss profound
We took it on the chin
Supports we took for granted
Have flown upon the wind

But still to love with all your being
A thing of beauty, made
And share it with your childhood peers,
To stand by it, unafraid

And still to wish for little things
No, not to look for praise
But to hear a sibling’s loving voice
On cake and candle days

This is my heart.  I offer it
With passions intertwined,
My gift, bestowed through Mom and Dad,
To those they left behind.