His youth… his Love…
His enjoyment of being alive…
His future, like a book
With half the pages still uncut —
This was my brother
At Dieppe —
The one who built me a doll house
When I was seven,
Complete to the last small picture frame,
Nothing forgotten.
He was awfully good at fixing things,
At stepping into the breach when he was needed.
That's what he did at Dieppe;
He was needed.
And even death must have been a little shamed
At has eagerness.
Mona Gould
Acknowledgement:
Acknowledgment is made to Saturday Night, Gossip, Chatelaine, Canadian Poetry Magazine, Canadian Home Journal and The Montrealer, in whose pages many of these poems have appeared.
Contents
I Run With the Fox
Memory Sharp