You stood tall
and blocked many
of life's footballs
for eighty odd years
You lived in many places
from Cairo to Barrow
until you came to live with lucky us
here in Windermere
I never saw you as a soldier
a lover of women and fun
It’s hard to see you shooting a gun
at anyone
I saw you as a gardener
toiling gently in the soil
You knew your birds and bees
and your flowers and your trees
You avoided the elevator
like the plague
I’m glad you left before
there were compromises
you would have to make
You still had most of your hair
and you preferred to take the stairs

Keith.
Keith the gardener, Keith the poet,
Keith with the infectious smile, Keith with the load of worries,
Keith of the lost loves, Keith of the quirky turn of phrase,
Keith who could always come up with a title -
Keith, we shall remember you well.
Hugs all round,
Janet

Goodbye Keith Wilson
We will miss you here
at Birthwaite Bards you brought us cheer
Always remembering the good old days
Lost loves
sometimes new
How many can you remember?
Twenty one or twenty two?
We had a laugh with stories you told
and poems so bold
Birthwaite Bards feel a loss
We'll remember you dearly
Happy days!

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

(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
❤

Keith has gone
He has passed on
a week ago
I am letting everyone know
His fellow poets in Windermere
will publish a few new poems here

What's a cup of coffee?
'Nana' is it's name
They used to call me 'grandma'
but now it's not the same
Now I'm having a refill
I think it's coming now
So Sheila, take a bow