Bulletin Board
THE TOUCH OF YOUR HAND
When I reach out to your hand, which now is not there, my memories burst forth of all the times we did share. Throughout the many years, from our very first touch, we never once dreamed we would see and do so much.
Together we both travelled by land, sea and air, visiting family and friends living in lands so fair. We marvelled at their strength and methods in doing, some of the things and materials they were using.
Many were strange names to us in the far distant lands, the ancient origins were created by the native bands.
There were huge hardwood trees, a thousand years old, kiwi birds with feathers like hair, could not fly we’re told.
There are volcanoes erupting non-stop, what a sight. for miles you can see them red hot during the night.
Some of the mountains have snow on all year round, anyone wanting to ski, there’s no place better found.
Our life together has come full circle it seems, and I’m left alone now to live out our dreams.
The magic that we felt on that first touch of hands, will last all the rest of my life till my time ends.
For many years, in my idle hours, I have written poems that friends and relatives alike have commented on very favourably. In fact, some have referred to me as the Prairie Poet.
My latest poem is an ode to my late wife, Margaret, with whom I shared 65 years of marriage.
We raised four children, have nine grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. She passed away last January at the age of 95. Perhaps other seniors will be reminded of when the touch of their hands brought forth such a fruitful life. This is in memory of my wife, Margaret, with love.