by
Ashley Keebler
he baby took one fluttering gasp.
Two. Three. Four.
Each weaker than the last. One more. Passed. All past.
This is a poem I wrote about by brother Nathan. He's gone now. Nathan wasn't even born yet when he died. That was a sad experience for my family and me, but we've learned to get over it. If Nathan hadn't died, he'd be about two weeks old right now. I will never forget my brother whom I gained only to lose again.
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