Some share a life without trouble
Never swear or exchange a cross word
They live in a wee happy bubble
Or at least, that’s the story I’ve heard

Now me and my missus ain’t like that
We’ve rowed more than once, believe me
But we always decide to forgive and forget,
And whose turn is it now to make tea?

There were times, when our kids were little
When we waited for doctor to come
She’d wipe off the mucus and spittle
And I’d think, “What a wonderful mum”.

There were times when I nearly lost hope
When I barely kept up with the pace
I remember how that young girl could cope
As I gaze at her still lovely face

When my time comes to face The Grim Reaper
I will still feel a love for my wife
That is more, and stronger and deeper
Than at any time before in my life.

Dabbler,

I do hope it is one of your own, I love it.
I don't have the time for obvious reasons to check in on the forum, but today I am glad I did.
Nice sentiments from all my forum friends and I can't thank you all enough for that. It is great to know that so many people care.

God Bless,
Beano

Dabbler, I have been waiting for your next poem, and this one is again a winner, perhaps your best, but if not, a real heart-warmer. Tell me this dabbler, who is this Grim Reaper you are going to face?

Liz

Beano’s sad news set me thinking about life and family. And into my head popped the basis of that wee poem.
The Grim Reaper, Liz, is the inevitable: Death.

Dabbler, that was lovely. gave me goosebumps
Sally xx

Dabbler et al
I am reading at present Gerald Keegen,s, "Famine Diary, Journey to a New World" ( ISBN 0-86327-309-9 ). He describes the conditions and mentions many visits from the " grim reaper " on board the "coffin " ships bringing Imigrants to the New World around 1847.
I remember some years ago visiting the Ulster / American Folk Park near Dungannon and viewing a life size model of such a ship, it did not surprise me that death and disease prevailed on board when one sees what hardships the Emigrants had to endure.
A pity that the park is now closed due to lack of interest and / or funds.
Donald

What I do for love, Donald. Off to Gatwick AND Heathrow early tomorrow. Heathrow to fetch much loved daughter-in-law back from visiting family, and Gatwick for son, back from business trip to Munich.
On Wednesday 19 Oct, 6,15 pm, I saw a little old, well, my age, lady, walking painfully down our street, barefoot with a walking stick. I have seen similar in Romania, but, though not Millionaires Row, you just don’t expect that here, in our little suburban road. Sticking my nose in, like I do, I learn that she is frightened of her lodger, who is going to return with four of his mates to give her a beating, that she has had numerous strokes, and is suffering from terminal cancer. Well, I have met, and several times spoken to, her lodger, who would need no assistance to flatten the lady and myself with a sideways swipe, so I was pleased when another chap, a very kind neighbour, fetched her a large pair of his green wellies, plus a raincoat that I would be pleased to own, and took her in for a cup of tea, having called the police. That good chap has since told me that he waited two and a half hours for the arrival of a policewoman, and it took him and the policewoman a further hour to convince the old lady that her lodger was waiting indoors to give her another cuppa, and her tablets.