The sheet, drawn up above closed eyes...
No peeking, slipped stiff, and out cold as ice.
A mistic clouded vapor, arisen to air....
No longer down here, but way up over head, up there.
A spirit...
That's it.
The, deep, final end...
Gone far away, far beyond, this lower, Earthly bend.
Way beyond, this mortal sphere...
No longer a burst of noise, no longer, here.
This spirit that walks all through, the longest, lonely night...
Will, soon, be up in Heaven, Where pure, and happy, bright light.
Assembled down here beside a grave...
By all family members, and friends, be sadly, brave.
Gray clouds roll into thy life, to move about, as free of will...
Happier days lie ahead, in time, to brighten thee, and smile a thrill.
Forgot by others of man and like...
To go on ahead, instilled in a lifely, happy hike.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And, the Show doth go on...with or without us...and if we have any complainte....we can tell 'THE SPIRIT...THATS IT! '''...classic line...Michael Jeffrey...But, let us pray, ...that whatever spirit we complain tol....is atTENtive! ! ! Frank/FjR ..2009..