I died and here I lie As mourners pass by, They pause to wipe tears Staring at me lying here. I died where I was born Early on a frosty morn, With presents under the tree, I was born on Christmas Eve. Life is over but it's not so bad As I recall the years I had, There's not much I'd change If I came back to rearrange. Let the funeral march begin I've seen it through till the end, Enough of this teary grieving It's time this soul was leaving. It's waiting outside for me, My carriage ride to eternity, I'll be carried out that door Never to enter one no more. A hearse will carry me home Ever to lie neath the loam, A horse drawn one it's to be, To that resting place for me. So If I had my druthers Transport me brothers, Place me in my fancy ride, Haul me to where I'll bide. I shall lie aside my dear wife The only joy I knew in life, She waits for me on yonder hill Forever loving, forever still. ©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison: 01-19-05 Return   Poetry By Ken   Guestbook   Email Ken To send this page to someone