Remembrance and Gratitude: A Selection of Poems and Writings. Charles F. Meek

our bliss.

      She is not just my wife, but a friend very true

      And is not just there for me, but also for you

      She is the love of my life, a joy to behold

      And together we shall be, as we do grow old.

      

       A Mother’s Son

      

      I always wanted to be a soldier, just like my Dad

      That’s what his Mum said, about her bonnie wee lad

      The years went by, he grew up strong

      And still in the Army, is where Jamie longed.

      The day came when Jamie sailed away

      His Mum on the shore, praying he’d return one day

      Jamie wrote to his darlin’ Mum

      Hello Mum, this is Jamie your loving son.

      The guns are loud, the cannons are screaming

      Coming home is what I’m dreaming

      I can hear the pipes, I can hear them playing

      We’re coming home, they seem to be saying.

      The pipes they played for a soldier’s son

      Who fought the battle, and fought and won

      Jamie’s Mum at the station was waiting

      A pain in her heart, the tension was creating.

      The crowd that gathered to see their village son

      All were there for Jamie’s Mum

      The pipes were playing The Battles O’er

      As the train pulled in, they opened the carriage door.

      The flag draped coffin, was carried shoulder high

      As the rifles fired into a cloudless sky

      Jamie’s home, he was one of the best

      The pipes were playing, as he was laid to rest.

      A soldier he was, from the cradle to the grave

      For his country’s freedom, his life he gave

      Jamie’s home, he was one of the best

      The pipes were playing, as Jamie was laid to rest.

       As A Boy

      

      Often I think back to when I was a boy, oh so many years ago

      Playing as a child in the fields, and in the winter snow

      Memories of those days, linger in my heart

      One day I will return, to where my childhood did start.

      In the old tower, where Bruce once fought

      Looking over to Stirling, to where the English, Wallace caught

      Raiding the Minister’s apples, and Mum making an apple pie

      Old Tom Kettles the cop, would catch us, often make us cry.

      Those were the days when life was full of fun

      Playing with our friends, at catch and run

      Daffodils were my flower, and many I had

      Often I got caught stealing, I guess I was bad.

      Dad was a coal miner, deep down in the ground

      He’d carry me on his shoulders, happiness was all around

      Life was tough in those days, when every penny counted

      War was on, the enemy surrounded.

      So many of our friends, have passed away

      Their memories linger on, even to this day

      Oh I wish I was a child again, back in my childhood days

      Back in my village, back in our old quaint ways.

      Clackmannan was my home, where I grew up

      And my little dog, I got as a pup

      We’d roam around together, with not a care around

      One day I will be, to Scotland I’ll be bound.

      

       Tribute to Mrs. Vesta Douglas

       Freeman of the City of Terrace

      

      In the springtime of her youth, she had a childish grin

      The door to her home would be open, and she would welcome you in

      Sit down over there, rest easy for a while

      As she handed you a coffee, with that grin and a smile.

      She is loved by many, disliked by none

      She is every child’s favourite Mum

      The joy in her giving could be seen in her eyes

      As she looks out her window, to the heavenly skies.

      To know her is a pleasure, to not is a sin

      Remember her door is open, and a welcome to come on in

      Take her a bunch of flowers, or a candy or two

      She will gladly share them, with me and with you.