Deadman's Glory

A death bed reflection

Sing Deadman Sing,

For your word is true upon the deathbed,

Give unto us the Joys of your Life,

Don't deprive the fruit of your Love.

Pale are thine eyes,

But no longer are they needed,

Enough they have seen of thy world

And weary they are from the Journey.

No nightmare plagues thy mind,

For though thou hast been a sinner

You are going onto heaven to be a Saint

Among Many.

Your body is frail,

But it has done great deeds

And is allowed to rest,

For your feet stormed the beaches of Normandy,

Under fire from the Nazis regime,

Thy legs have born the weight forced upon thee,

Your knees are strong as oak from prayer -

before thy God,

Your arms have held many fruit of thy Loins.

But your hands have done the most,

Hard and coarse from the trials of your Life,

Lives they have ended in the name of Peace,

Scared from the Labor you have born for Love,

And weak were they the day you held the

Ashes of your Grandson fallen in the East.

Rest now dearest brother,

And storm the Gates of Heaven,

But not with guns,

For they are wide open as you go,

For today you run into the arms of your King.