Gnarly Old Tree

Gnarly old tree, gnarly old tree

Staring down through into my window at me,

Gnarly old tree, gnarly old tree

Where are your green buds you normally wear with such glee,

Gnarly old tree, gnarly old tree

Red blooms you show so bright and with pride

All summer long I watch each one slowly die,

Gnarly old tree, gnarly old tree

Many years will pass by and then its a goodbye from me

Paul Stamp 21/March/2016

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Always thinking of others.

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Nearing the end of my Mothers life she took to writing poetry, including, she wrote about all her family members and her accomplishments achieved in life, sadly, Mum parted cash to a scoundrel who promised her he would get her name and words printed in a book.

Today is her Birthday, i know she would be devastated about the state of our world at this moment in time, but, i know she would be so proud of us all.

I have gone through all her works, and decided to print this one in particular to her memory.

“When i die weep not for me,
weep for the things i wanted to live and see
I wanted to see my Sophie grow strong,                                              and show her the difference between right and wrong,                    Perhaps when i reach my designated place,                                        I can watch her through shimmering lace.

I have a partner who was lover and friend,                                        To him i leave all my love no end,                                                         he helped me through so very much,                                                     I warmed and felt better with every touch,                                  when this is read he may have gone before,                                      If that is so, for me he will open that golden door.

Family and friends there is no more to say,                                Don’t make this a very sad day,                                                               I will be pleased to go on my way,                                                 Maybe to meet my Mum and Dad,                                                    And that will be happy ——– not sad!                                     Goodbye to you all who have perhaps loved me,                           from worry and sickness i have been set free”.

Pat Stamp       1996