Four kids, we were much like a flock of sheep
A fractious bunch, even with Bo Peep
Our mother watched over this frisky lot
Like ewes in the pasture, ready to trot
Sweet memories when I’m going to sleep
Steven is like a New Year’s Eve blast
A rowdy youth, his chums called him fast
He imbibed a strong drink
Gave the girls a wink
And never lamented his past
Peter is like a museum of art
A passion for beauty runs through his heart
A photo artiste
Paint and brush, he’s a beast
A Renaissance man from the start
Vicki, our sis, like a jazz quartet
Soulful music though sometimes she’ll fret
A minor’s her key
Her riffs give us glee
Such vocals we’ll never forget
David is more like a cemetery at night
Moody, morose, often poised for flight
Quiet as a tomb
His mind toys with doom
But with siblings he feels less uptight
As a family we’re sort of a Swedish stew
All these fine flavors go into the brew
True, no two are alike
A happy medium we strike
And that said, I will bid you adieu
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