In my hometown my brother was a freeman,
And when he was killed defending his status,
The chapel was full of his admirers.

“So, you were his brother then, you must be proud of him.”
But their eyes told me that I was but a pale imitation of their hero.

I loved my brother! OK, but not the one they got to Know.
The one I knew walked alone in the forest,
picked flowers for his mum,
sat on top of a tree and watched the sun go down.

Wrote lyrical poems when stars were near and clear,
for at dawn put a hissing match to his words of dreams
and see them become fluttering ashes in the morning breeze.