With Little Fingers

With little fingers he grabs the brush,
And splashes colors on a canvas.
He makes the art of many colors
Come together in unison.
"Which color should I use?"
His little voice asks me.

"Blue" I answer to him.
And with little fingers he dabs
His brush, in the paint.
And continues his collage of colors.

With little fingers he taps the keys
Of the Grand Piano.
Desiring to make music,
He asks me
"Can you teach me?"

I sit beside him on the bench,
I place my fingers on black and white,
And press each key that lies beneath
To make the desired noise.
With little fingers he mimicked
My movement, and smiled
When he heard the sound he made.

With little fingers he flips the pages
Of his favorite book.
"Please read to me,
The story of Jesus."
With tears in my eyes I reply
"Yes, Josiah. I'll read you His Story."

Truth be told, I almost forgot,
The very story that gave me a free life.
But here I am,
Reading my little brother
The story of a life time.
The story I fail to mirror.

The tears begin to pour
About the time he's on the cross.
Dying, his last words were
"Forgive them Father."

And with little fingers
Upon my own,
He held my hand
And refused to let go.
"It's okay, Meme.
He's in heaven now."

I know its not the best...any form of advice would be nice.


-BG-