Views in verse on my northern star

I said farewell to my much loved uncle today. This humble, generous man was my guide in life. Such a wonderful, insightful man.

The Tradesman

I love to see a tradesman at his work

His machines and tools,

Ready companions in his toil.

His hand eye movements quick

With every easy lick

Enjoying each pass with a guarded smile

No need to stop at all

Unless resources stall

Breaks somehow not needed in his grind.

The caste-offs there about him,

Redundant to his needs

The broom can lie idle quite some time

You may hear the odd cuss

As time passes through his day

As natural as the tunes, he might care to mutter.

If you were there nearby,

He’d find you a twinkled smile

But not long enough to distract him from his labours

His increasing gritty form

Not an issue, not at all

He’d see to that when’er his work was done.

The work-bell’s now been rung,

Seems it’s over …he’s been told,

“Les, come along inside, tea’s getting cold”