Crenellated book turrets
encircled our Pooh corner;
my head pressed back
rested on age sanded bars
of his painted cot.
For sleepy comfort;
he reached through,
twiddled and twirled
wild tumult of curls,
small fist sharp grips
at each raised voice,
hurled
through another
slammed door
below.
Oustanding homework
balanced on my knees,
lullaby pitched
as the humming of bees,
for his ears only
in our small sibling heaven.
2004
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minor edit 20.03.10
