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He lies there now
Under the cold ground
In his Catholic coffin
In his best suit
And he couldn’t spell
Write or read
But he made me smile
On Tuesdays or Fridays
When he came to tend my garden
Buddy loved him
The flowers would open
And we would share a cuppa
And talk of the price of petrol
A begonia
The brick path he made

Sometimes we would go to the tip
Sharing the work
His 68 year old body
Fitter than mine
His hands coarse as sandpaper
Pulling at the rubbish with the rake
Embarrassing me
He looked like Ernest Borgnine
With a shock of white hair
A sailor’s cap
And cigarette

Freddy never contemplated the markets
Knew nil of law except for speed cameras
And Jesus
And I have lost a friend
Not one to shout ‘truth’ over the rooftops
But one just to listen
In the exuberance of it all
To prune a rose
Then go home to ‘The Mrs’

Beautiful, poignant, and moving, Adam. With the same kind of humility that it seems Freddy had, you've captured who he was and what he meant to you. I'm so sorry to hear that you've lost such a sweet friend.


~ Lizzy

You're a good woman, Lizzy.

Boss,

From my vantage point, Lizzy is a good woman and you a good guy. Freddy, from what
you've written, appears to have been a good friend to you and you to him. Sorry for
the loss. You can believe it or not, but it hurts me too.

Thank you very much, Adam, and Steven, too. You've shown your goodness here many times, Adam. Now it shows, again, through your quiet, supportive friendship with Freddy.


Love,
Lizzy