David H Killop

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The Tree.

Scraggy fingers grasp the sky

Their fleshy leaves now long time lost

Returned to earth from whence they came

A ruined crown now dressed with frost.

 

The tree now naked stands serene

While nature tries with snow to dress

Yet thus disrobed the beauty bides

The tree is still a tree no less.

 

On its axis spins the earth

And circumnavigates the sun

Moving to that place in space

From whither summer seasons come.

 

The buds exploding on the branch

Open up to summers rays

And winter nights are giving way

To longer warmer summer days.

 

The tree all green in glory now

Reveals to us some greater power

Which we may never understand

Until, perhaps, our final hour.

 

  

                       

In Memory Lies Hope.

There are many, many kinds of love

You'll Experience during your life

There's the love you have for your parents

And the love you have for a wife

There's the love you have for your children

And the ones that your children have wed

But the strangest love is for loved ones

long after those loved ones are dead.

For the memories are all of your being

They're the joy of the things of the past

Of the precious times spent together

That for ever and ever will last

Is this what makes loved ones immortal?

Is this why believing's the thing?

That sends from the grave the good message

That death has really no sting.

Yet one must think of the present

And what the future can bring

To make the memory important

And tell of that wonderful thing

So when it is time for departure 

We take this message to send

to all in the world who are grieving                        

That parting is never the end.                                                                                    

David H Killop

A CAUTIONERY TALE FOR CHRISTMAS.

Christmas bells are ringing this time is oh so sweet

All those fancy tempting shops think it's all so neat

Tills go jingle jangle the money's rolling in

People overspending this must be a sin.

Time will come for paying by now the time is gone

To try to be more thrifty the budget's gone all wrong

The letter box is clanking the postman calls with grief

Today there's only eight demands so that is some relief.

And he will call tomorrow with another bulging hand

We only wish that we had thought of credit being panned

Cah will only stretch so far the stuff is not elastic

So when you have no credit it's time to rip the plastic.

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