Sing me home,
sing me home,
growing again in the bones.
Give me a beacon of light,
I remember your humor
and your love of simple things,
and your simple graceful ways,
of rolling with life,
on the golden sea of grass,
where the prairie goes on forever,
your slow voice,
the carrots, the straw, the birds
so tenderly cared for with broken wings,
and stumps for legs.
Surely there is a front row seat for you in heaven,
and if not, then there is no justice in this universe.
We should all be so lucky to be more like you my friend.