The winter chill now befalls my frail frame,
And the time hath come to draw close to those
Whose blood and yours art in all senses same,
Whose voices in young days at your birth rose.
Yet my joy doth not originate with them,
I thank Heaven not for their intrusion.
They hath not my broken heart yet to hem,
Our intellects hath not joined in fusion.
I find myself more at home with you, though
Though our blood match not like family should,
And our bond at my birth did not yet sew,
Yet you serve to the life rains as my hood.
____Thou art my family more than my blood,
____Since thou walk with me through the grass and mud.
___________________Dedicated to E.M.B., S.R.H., and W.R.M., my family