Poems

The many times Olympic and World Champion the great Usain Bolt
He raced to the line like a champion thoroughbred colt
Recently retired his best days are gone
But the legend he created in athletics live on
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I do miss the scenic beauty of the high countryside
Where from the foot of the old hill one can see far and wide
The most amazing scenery for miles and miles around
In Spring in the green high country viewed from the higher ground
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She may be in her eighties and the years have left her gray
But she sticks up for the underdog and of her one can only say
That she is one in a billion people like her are rare
There's only one Jo Mountwinter with her none to compare.
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He lives in that brown Country where the Tarwin waters flow
And there's not much about native wildlife that he does not seem to know
The calls of the noisy miner and the yellow tail black cockatoo
And the whistling of the wombat and the coughing of grey roo
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The Seasons are catching up on her and time has left her grey and lame
Yet lots of life left in the body of the one who walks with the aid of a frame
The reaper on her may be waiting but she still looks lucid and bright
And to father time she won't surrender without putting up a good fight.
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We did have some showers in the morning though it was quite welcome the rain
And the day it has turned out quite windy and the sun is out shining again
For mid Fall it is such good weather the butterflies dance in the breeze
And the temperatures so very pleasant a tad over twenty degrees.
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Some just whine for the sake of complaining they convince themselves that life to them is unfair
Whilst others they just suffer in silence though big crosses they've been given to bear
Suppose it takes all sorts of people for to make up this World of ours
'Tis true what they say of true gardeners they can tell the weeds from the flowers.
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He is in the same grave as his predeceased wife
They are united in death and they were divided in life
For years they lived under the one roof but they did not share the same bed
All good and bad feelings are dead in the dead.
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The last time I met him he was complaining although his troubles did seem small
And today in the Mall when I met him he had not changed one bit at all
He still is the same Grumbly Grouser I spoke to some ten months ago
For me he did not have one happy story of his small troubles he wished me to know.
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This whiskey it is magical stuff
It makes the gentle wild and rough
And it makes the timid and the quiet
Aggressive and in mood for fight.
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