It’s not that I am afraid to die,
I hate to say goodbye.
To all my family I love so much
and to all those friends who kept in touch.
My time is up and I must go,
where I go I don’t know.
It’s not for me to decide, the choices are few,
there’s only two.
If by the love of God and his grace,
we meet again in another place,
it will be great to celebrate with family and friends.
There will be some old and some new
If you look closely, one of them might be you.
Birds that sing,
gates that swing,
wire that’s tight,
coyotes howl in the night.
Corn that grows tall until it’s done,
wheat waving in the breeze, hay curing in the sun.
Green grass growing
by a stream flowing.
A sky so blue
with a few fluffy white clouds, too.
How could I be so blind, why could I not see?
That maybe it’s a little bit of heaven God gives to you and me.
-Paul Pierson
August, 2008
RIP Uncle Paul.
July 25, 1926 — November 21, 2008
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