GulleMan Original Poem - The Middle One

The Middle One

 

Being the youngest,
Was not his game,
Which we would see,
When another one came.

Being the middle one,
O what a shame,
Was harder than he thought,
More pain than joy it brought.

Growing as the middle one,
Comes with two times a chair,
Instead of picking one,
He always tried to make a pair.

Suddenly being the gone one,
Made him just the glue,
Without which his family was screwed,
Sounds weird, but is oddly true.

Being the gone one,
Is in the end not as gone as we’d believe,
Because since he’s gone,
He couldn’t be closer… and without a grieve.

We love you. Always.