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You are my foundation
You are my rock
A shoulder to lean on
To whom I can talk

When we are together
I am at peace
I'm your bearing
You are my grease

Twenty five years of bliss
Is what we had
Proud you're my wife
Our daughter her dad

I hope twenty five more years
Is what's in store
When those are done
I'll need twenty five more
I've  always  been  a  ladies  man.
I  think  they  are  truly  great.
But  they  always  seem  to  die  on  me.
That  seems  to  be  my  fate.

Their  courage  and  bravery  is  unsurpassed.
Much  stamina  they  have  got.
They  seem . to  accept  things  more  than  men.
And  put  up  with  their  lot.

What  they  lack  in  muscle  power.
His  made  up  with  mental  strength.
To  fight  the  pain  of  childbirth.
They  will  go  to  any  length.

So  don't  knock  them  fellows.
They  will  always  be  there  for  you.
And  if  you  treat  them  properly.
They'll  remain  loving  kind  and  true.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
My  next  door  neighbor
as  just  died.
I  knew  he  was  dying.
But  it  still  came  as  a  big  shock.
I  was  just  thinking.
Life  is  so  fragile.
You  can  be  snuffed  out
at  any  given  moment.
R.I.P.  Norman.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016
A  beautiful  laburnum  tree
as  just  come  into  flower
outside  my  window.
Drooping  clusters  of
yellow  flowers.
Hanging  down  like  jewels
on  a  chain.
Truly  beautiful.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
Sad  to  hear  of  the  passing
of  Muhammad  ALI.

One  of  the  greatest  boxer's
of  our  time.

Henry  Cooper  knocked  him
down  once.
But  he  was  saved  by  the  bell.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
It's  blistering  hot  here  today.
Not  at  all  like  the  British
Lake  District.
I  have  borrowed  a  fan
from  the  lady  next  door.
To  try  and  cool  off.
I  don't  know  how  long
this  weather  will  last.
Perhaps  it  will  end
In  thunder  storms.


Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
"Stung
like a bumblebee,
Danced
like a butterfly."
Once or twice
he was on his knee,
But never lost
the “tiger’s eye.”

Au revoir,
inerrant Punch Press!
Yes,
adiós,
Black Orpheus!
Adiós,  
adiós!

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUN, June 6, 2016
Got the idea of writing a poem about Muhammad Ali, the greatest boxer of all time, from Poet Keith Wilson, Windemere, UK.
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