I  still  love  my  Catherine  dearly.
Her  beauty  unsurpassed.
Long  golden  hair  and  pale  blue  eyes.
I  still  think  of  her  like  that.

But  that  was  four  decades  ago.
The  time  has  just  elapsed.
But  time  stands  still  in  the  memory.
Just  like  a  photograph.

We  were  to  marry  one  March  day.
But  circumstances  took  me  away.
When  I  returned  from  foreign  climes.
Life  had  moved  on  with  the  times.

I  never  saw  her  ever  again.
Odd  letters  I  did  get.
She  was  swallowed  up  in  city  life.
And  I  often  have  regrets.

Has  she  grown  old  gracefully.
Or  in  youthful  beauty  died.
Many  times  I've  thought  of  her.
And  many  times  I've  cried.

But  in  my  mind's  eye  clearly.
Running  swiftly  down  the  hill.
A  vision  of  loveliness.
Within  my  memory  still.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.

Much poetry
May fade quickly
From memory.
Though there are such
That move us much,
Our souls do touch.

Catch us off guard
Or strike a chord,
Our hearts reward.
Some witty, wry
Some make us cry
Or wonder why.

Others inspire
Dreams and desire,
Ignite a fire.
Many appeal
for they are real,
They make us feel.

The truly great
Reverberate,
They resonate.

Frantic and wild
with only minutes to spare
they dare

Trees

I am a peculiar tree
Growing half in rock
And half in the sea

The winter winds do bother me
I need the spring to set me free

I envy ivy trees
So full of green

I can't stop the gale
But I can change my sail

Keith Wilson  Windermere Feb 22 2016

I  walked  under  clear  blue  skies.
My  feet  making  footprints  in  the  golden  sands.
    
I  shaded  my  eyes  and  peered  across.
At  inky-blue  mountains  stretching
Endlessly  beyond  the  vast
Expanse  of  water.

Seashells  scattered  at  random
Lay  embedded  in  the  soft  sand
Showing  off  many  beautiful  colors

I  sat  for  awhile  and  dozed  fitfully
Listening  to  the  soft  murmuring
Of  the  gentle  incoming  tide.

The  tranquillity  was  finally
Interrupted  by  an  excited
Yell  from  a  small  boy  fisherman
Who  had  hooked  a  minnow.

As  it  grew  cold  I  walked  on
With  a  clear  and  refreshed  mind.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

To  my  home  there  on  the  hilltop.
To  my  home  there  by  the  dale.
To  that  place  which  is  a  part  of  me.
One  day  I  know  I'll  sail.

I'll  step  off  the  ships  forever.
And  I'll  sail  no  more  the  seas..
When  I  answer  yet  the  sirens.
Of  my  homeland  calling  me.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

I  read  a  obituary  in  the  newspaper.
Of  a  long  lost  friend.

It  hit  me  off  the  page.
Like  an  arrow  through  my  heart.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

With only one wish left
desperate on floor:
"the paw!"