Description
To those who miss me
I’m not too good with eloquent words or saying what I truly feel
And I’ve yet to acclimatise myself to what will be my new non-existent state, which to you may seem so unreal
To those who miss me, I am sorry I have gone, but it had to happen one day
‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles’, is perhaps an appropriate thing to say
I’ll miss the joys life brought to me; I will miss the challenges it gave
I will miss serving others as I hope I did albeit my endeavours may have brought me closer to the grave
I will miss the smile upon your face and the love we had to share
Your time with me, no doubt over a cup of tea, and your kind gestures and expressions of care
I will miss seeing what becomes of our country so dear, though as at today, I somewhat despair
As our country dilutes into something no longer resembling itself, and my hope descends beyond repair
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But I have gone so alas, it’s your problem now and I wish you all of the bestI’ve done my bit; I’ve served my time and now I am to be laid down to rest Alas, let’s have less of this gloom; let’s be positive, I’ll leave you to say whatever you wish about me.
How fantastic I was, how I made a difference to your life, of your fond memories, however how trivial they might be A plea to you all, whoever you are, family, friends close and afar,
Make a real real effort for the rest of your lives to both live it whilst making a difference such that you shine like a star These are my closing words to you, though chosen and said on my behalf
For better or worse I’ve said what I’ve said, occasionally provoking thought or making you laugh. As I said, I’m not too good with eloquent words although on reflection, have actually expressed some thoughts I can now reveal
It is my funeral after all so the last chance for you to know what I feel. Thank you all for being here and for your tributes, flowers and bouquets
My thoughts and hopes are with you, over the future years, months and days.
About the Author
Keith Stokes-Smith was brought up in Solihull, moving to Worcestershire in 1997. Writing poems came easy to him in his twenties and early thirties.
In 2016, his mother passed away. Two weeks later, on a train journey to London, he belatedly wrote a bespoke poem for her funeral and wrote it as if she had composed it to be read out by her at her funeral; a strange concept you might think. From then on he found himself uncontrollably inspired to write more adopting words spoken by fictitious people of fictitious ages in fictitious circumstances. In essence, he has tried to be in the mind of the reader. His poems may be considered somewhat unique coupled very often with them having a sense of humour.
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