A MATE OF MINE CALLED BIll
Posted: Sat Dec 23, 2023 11:30 am
William Williams
Bill was a member on the old forum where he contributed the odd poem,
and also wrote yarns, some of them are still on the forum now.
He had at least one book published ‘FROM THE HUMPY’
I recently had a note from his wife Maureen to tell me Bill had passed away,
By chance he’d rung up for a chat like he often did, it must have been a week or so before his death.
I have written this little poem in memory of Bill.
A Mate Of Mine Called Bill
I had met him years ago while on a poet’s online show,
where like me he scrawled a poem or two and gave the yarns a go.
Being bushies both at heart back then, a friendship quickly grew,
that continued unabated as the passing years just flew.
Even in the later years Bill always kept in touch with me,
as we swapped the latest news and talked about what used to be.
And it saddens me to hear my old mate has now passed away,
only days before he’d rung as usual, just to say g/day.
In my mind’s eye I can see him still out where the grass grows high,
and the buffalo are plentiful beneath a cobalt sky.
Or perhaps along a sandy shore with fishing rod in hand,
doing what he loved the best while leaving footprints on the sand.
©T.E. Piggott
Bill was a member on the old forum where he contributed the odd poem,
and also wrote yarns, some of them are still on the forum now.
He had at least one book published ‘FROM THE HUMPY’
I recently had a note from his wife Maureen to tell me Bill had passed away,
By chance he’d rung up for a chat like he often did, it must have been a week or so before his death.
I have written this little poem in memory of Bill.
A Mate Of Mine Called Bill
I had met him years ago while on a poet’s online show,
where like me he scrawled a poem or two and gave the yarns a go.
Being bushies both at heart back then, a friendship quickly grew,
that continued unabated as the passing years just flew.
Even in the later years Bill always kept in touch with me,
as we swapped the latest news and talked about what used to be.
And it saddens me to hear my old mate has now passed away,
only days before he’d rung as usual, just to say g/day.
In my mind’s eye I can see him still out where the grass grows high,
and the buffalo are plentiful beneath a cobalt sky.
Or perhaps along a sandy shore with fishing rod in hand,
doing what he loved the best while leaving footprints on the sand.
©T.E. Piggott