When I’m in Heaven

I think when I’m in heaven, I’ll put my feet on a soft cloud. Pour some Tennessee whisky, and read poetry to the crowd. I’ll hug my dad a few times, I’ll kiss my mom on both her cheeks. Sit at the kitchen table, eat her good cooking for two weeks. I’ll walk those dusty backroads, won’t care about the summer heat. I’ll play tag and kick the can, right in the middle of the street. Maybe I’ll help as momma, hangs our clothes outside on the line. And listen to her singing, “Old Rugged Cross” just one more time. Perhaps I’ll join my father, listen to coon hounds running free. Laying on the grass watching, soft clouds floating on a cool breeze. Walk a few acres of beans, then buck a thousand bales of hay. Or head to Wakenda Creek, sit on the bank, and fish all day. So, when I’m dead and gone, dear, please don’t shed any tears for me. Just take my body’s ashes, and spread me neath that old oak tree. Take me back to Wakenda, back to that place where I was born. Carry me up that big hill, let me see fields of wheat and corn. Let me watch the birds and clouds, drifting through that Wakenda sky. Like I did in those old times, before life went too quickly by. When you come to the graveside, and see my name carved on the stone. Know that I am happy dear, and I shall never be alone.