A creeper once was planted,
On a cold North-facing wall,
The gardener wanted her to spread,
To cover the bricks and all.

In the weeks that followed,
She strove her best to grow,
But the sun was so unkindly
And the frost so cruel so.

Alas, one day a child at play
Broke off her slender stem.
'It's no use' she cried
'I'll never grow again.'

But she was so courageous,
A brave, hidden spirit she found
And started sending up new shoots,
Directly from the ground.

One day she got her just rewards,
For all her courage and strife,
The gardener came and transplanted her,
To start a brand-new life.

Now on a warm, South-facing wall,
Where the sun kissed her all day
And the gentle breeze caressed her,
She grew and grew away.

She grew so strong and beautiful
And when the tale is told.
Her crown of joy was autumn,
With her leaves tinged red and gold.

Keith Wilson . Windermere  UK  2017.

Wanting to wander,     discover afar,
affirms home is in     needing you near me.

Our eyes met, hearts knew.      Signals flashed like code
bound with beautiful,      arresting silence.

Battered and bruised
this heart takes a pounding.
As the mind goes into the spin cycle.
Taking no notice of time
that elapses regardless.

Worn and exhausted,
these lungs yearns and fights for...
Air.
Sweet air.
As if tomorrow would offer no more.

Unnatural and numbing...
Sleep.
These meds promise only the illusion
that all is good and well.
Encapsulated in high sheen gloss.
Shaped such to go down easy.
A means for a convenient albeit
temporary escape.

Pale-faced and stiff,
he stood...
Unmoving - frozen in time.

His chest no longer heaved,
his limbs dangled dead.
His painted lips were parted
with no spoken words.

We have before seen him breathe.
We have before noticed his wordless actions.
We have before heard his song.

And this is his end -
A space
unaccompanied by his usual
careful and subtle gestures.

He bore no voice now as he did then.
But his story was told loud
through the lyrics and music
of a hauntingly, mournful song...

Showcasing the lone relatable teardrop
that never dries.

A  stiff  breeze
blowing  the  cherry  blossoms  away.
Petals  floating  into  space
like  tiny  butterflies.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

I,t  came  up  twice.