My brother, John, was older than me; and I had ever looked up to him,
As a golden sun seems always with you, but comes and goes at whim.

My brother, John, taught me to roller skate, and how to fly a green kite.
We rode bikes and red wagons, in mauve, swift days of summer delight.

My brother, John, was very smart. Nonetheless, he was frequently tardy,
Like faint stars, yet visible come dawn, having twinkling, confetti parties!

We had fast friends in the neighborhood, of fluttering ruby leaves, fallen,
Like fragrant fields woven into life's fabric, creating sometimes gardens.

Fast vehicles brought flowery family, whose scents floated upon fresh air;
Fine, fruity, spicy and fleeting, like the violet dawn, foretelling anywhere.

We lived in the house of unhurried time, where fate peered in windows;
And chorusing birds had no maestro, during the sunny days of primrose.

Squirrels played on sidewalks of silver, beneath suddenly sapphire skies,
On our Scarlet Street days of sultry weather, and dazzling, rainbow prize.

National pride was naturally celebrated, with noisy picnics on 4th of July,
When neighbors came together, laughing, purple martins wondering why.

There were rose riots on every street, in the times of elegant, zinnia zest,
As hot, blossom breezes blew forever. like the pink moon, night impressed.

Yellow begonia buzz came from flowerpots, and dusk brought fuchsia fun;
Since aromas of lush lavender filled the air, in the presence of bronze sun.

Sports were vital to Brother. His Most Valuable Player status was pending.
The school day at last came, when he'd know for sure-like red mist ending.

I had left for class, but realized I'd not seen John. I found him still asleep.
So alarmed he'd nearly missed his big moment, he was ready in a streak!

My brother, John, was a natural leader. I had learnt how to swim from him.
My brother, John, became Most Valuable Player, like hyacinth days comin.'

My brother, John, is never late nowadays, like sweet dreams coming true.
My brother, John, shines at sports, like the dyed sun of evening rearview.

My brother, John, is a real champion, who has begun to focus upon goals,
Like first days of mesmeric summer, as red butterfles go on flower patrols.

'Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?
Brother John, Brother John,
Morning bells are ringing! Morning bells are ringing!
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.'