The first time I saw her
  I never would of thought
    a girl that beautiful
      would ever love
        a guy like me

But then somehow
  she did
    loved me more
      than anyone had before
         or since
loved me more kindly
  more sweetly
   more more
    than I ever would have
      imagined possible

And even though
  it didn't last forever

somehow

in someway

it did

(11 May 1934 -November 2022)

Mister Wilson, salt of the earth
a peaceful poet, embarks on rebirth
His charm, his wit, his humble wisdom
We honour now with candle lit
A gardener of words and of the land
May he be led lovingly by the hand
to a place full of foxes and robins
with trees, flowers, and crystal clear waters
May he find there all he loves dearly
As we celebrate his life and see his heart more clearly
Sweet dreams to our dear friend
You are in our hearts, our love we send
❤

It's sad to say
that Keith's writing skills
of which there were many
have passed away
No more little tales
stories
and poems
So many differents parts of his life
to enjoy, and enjoy
like being a 'Gardener'
falling into hedges
without knowing why
Bless him, wherever he may be

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     Saint Joseph and Ice Cream

             “I thought I heard you saying it was a pity…I never had any
              children…But I have, you know…Thousands of ’em …
              thousands of ’em…”

                                      -Goodbye, Mr. Chips

                           In memory of a happy summer morning
                           with Abbie and Alexander in Ottawa

Every man is a father after the Order of Saint Joseph
Every child is his to nurture and protect
A man must practice wisdom and honor
In order to pass them on to a new generation

And there is something to be said for ice cream -
I was entrusted with two little children
For a walkabout around Parliament Hill
“And give them nutritious snacks,” their mother enjoined

Most strictly enjoined

I asked myself what good Saint Joseph would do -
Surely he would buy them an ice cream each

And it was so
And now you know

A knife cuts clean the jugular of Greece,
Sun-shattered Autumn spurts in breezes,
Her face falls like crumpled sails of the trireme
~This is the sound of sinking clouds, mammatus~
The slow tottering head sinks into itself,
The arm of once-command lies lengthwise
Next to the sea, as waves erase all her form,
And the drear and maddened moon in its cage of stars.