We envied you, the youngest,
as if you had been singled out
for a coat of many colors.
We said Mom spoiled you.
We were wrong.
Love made you strong.
You grew to manhood with courage
enough to hold at bay
the gnawing years that would
chew upon the heart remorselessly,
the way packs of wild dogs
devour the downed lamb.
You stayed with Mom and Dad—
held back the dark
that folded in on the farm,
that held fast to our mother.
You stayed to tend the fields,
to mind the cattle and we were free
to leave: to embroider our garments
with threads of red and gold.
You stayed,
steadfast in your faded coat.
