Band of Brothers

When I was just a little child,
I never had a worry.
For when running free around the wild,
My knowledge of life was blurry.
There was a group of things,
That I loved above all others.
My stuffed giraffe, my big red ball,
And my family, all like brothers.
One was left behind,
In a park so old and musty.
The other popped and died,
On a nail so sharp and rusty.
But the ones I loved were taken from me,
In the most cruel and heartless way.
Piece by piece, little by little,
Just to wither away.
I knew it had to happen,
But alas I didn't care.
For why should mine be taken from me,
And not  from someone elsewhere?
I had worked so hard and loved them all,
From the bottom of my heart.
But in the end, our Band of Brothers,
Undeniably fell apart.
Yet, with the fall of the elders,
In our great family clan.
There came the birth of many more,
And through the generations they would span.
But with each death and with each sorrow,
Our wave of hope stayed strong.
For a brighter day would be tomorrow,
And as a family we will always belong.