This was quite sweet. The poem wraps around me in a warm, fuzzy feeling like sweaters. My mother never knitted anything for us from scratch, but she always managed to fix everything. Every time I lost hope in my favourite article of clothing, I find it fixed next day, fitting better than ever. I swear to you, my mum is not a seamstress, she's just another one of those witches who uses magic.

The last stanza was a great end. A mixture of the past linked to the present. Your younger brother isn't so young anymore. And even though he's in a Ferragamo suit, you still both return to the mother who is welcoming and repairs your clothes (not only that, of course).

Just a tiny comment about punctuation - I am a freak for punctuation and flow and it could be just my thought, but I would add a comma after " your mother's". I think it's still correct, but my mind has some uncomfortable feeling about it. Not sure why. Why does my mind do this to me??