Her Words

We shuffled towards the open grave; Our hearts were wrenched; we were not brave; She would not speak from new-dug loam ‘Welcome to my holiday home’. With memories of Christmas past We prayed for grace; we prayed she’d last; But now she will not call - please come, ‘Welcome to my holiday home’. She had to go; she could not stay And now we’ll never hear her say, The words were hers and hers alone, ‘Welcome to my holiday home’. We think of all the happy years; Our cheeks are wet with bitter tears; Her Christmas cheer will not be sung; 'Welcome to my holiday home'. We look upon the opened earth; We think of death, we think of birth; Now one of us must sing her poem ‘Welcome to my holiday home’. The generations fall away But love and joy will always stay And heaven calls her - come, now come, ‘Welcome to my holiday home’.