Soft,

Andrew has odd ways, strange ways,

a boy who’s mostly laughing,

living loud in vibrant days

and often loving, loving.

Singing in delighted tones

twinkling eye to eye,

yielding as the special one

who climbed up there to die

but sensible folk, how could they know

how to see, to be

with Andrew and his runny nose;

a tissue’s ecstasy.